


How To Use a Long Rest

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Don't Ask Too Many Questions, Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kemonomimi, M/M, Undead, alchemical painkillers, dumb boys in love, graphic depictions of violence definitely applies, it's voltron dnd, mildly, still more smut than not smut tho, they both top, this is more smut than not smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: In which the team's game of Monsters and Mana isn't actually a game, and Lance takes good care of Shiro. Several times.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have ZERO excuses at all, i'm just upset by season 6 and i have to vent my thirsty shiro anguish somehow, so i picked cat thief lance fucking shiro's brains out because shiro is beautiful and deserves nice things
> 
> btw a long rest is a dnd mechanic that lets your party sleep and regenerate hp/spells/do some "light reading"

The first time Lance lays eyes on the paladin, tall and handsome in all that heavy armor, he’s smitten. 

Lance is a man of many interests, and Shiro somehow manages to be a whole lot of them at once. He looks stern, but he has a sense of humor, and it’s wonderfully easy for Lance to coax a deep, genuine laugh out of him. He’s also unfairly strong; Lance has always been into the type of person that could break him in half if they wanted to. 

He’s also fairly certain Shiro knows he’s hitting on him, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Every time Lance flirts with him, Shiro gives him this knowing little smile, and it’s kind of making Lance crazy.

They stop to rest one evening at a quiet inn at the base of the mountains. It’s pretty far from the main road, so the party has no problems each getting a room to themselves. Over dinner, Hunk helps Allura strengthen some of the enchantments her arrows while Pidge pores over a map of their path through the mountains. 

With the rest of the party distracted, Lance helps himself to the seat beside Shiro, turning to him with a wide grin. Shiro quirks an amused eyebrow at him, but he makes space for them both, which honestly only encourages Lance.

“So,” he starts, idly playing with a tiny dagger. “Where are you from?” Shiro opens his mouth to reply, but Lance interrupts, “I mean, _before_ the whole monastery thing.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully, poking at his food some more. “I don’t really know about anything before that. I’ve been training for as long as I can remember, so.” He shakes his head and smiles at Lance again. “How about you?”

“Oh, you know,” Lance sighs. “My kind don’t really settle down a whole lot, so I’m pretty much from everywhere.” Shiro turns more toward him, obviously interested. Score. “Never heard of catfolk?”

“I have,” Shiro replies, his eyes flicking briefly toward Lance’s tail. “I always thought catfolk were... furrier.”

“Not all of us,” Lance huffs. “We have a pretty huge gene pool, my man. I just happen to be on the dashingly-handsome end of that pool.”

Shiro laughs at that, the sound soft but damn charming. “Lucky you.” Lance preens at his attention, his tail curling lazily in the air behind him. The movement catches Shiro’s gaze again, and seemingly without realizing it, he mumbles, “I’ve always been a cat person.”

Lance gives him a sharp, crooked grin and wiggles his eyebrows, and to his absolute delight, Shiro’s face turns bright red, his lips pursed slightly. “Is that so?” he teases, unable to help himself.

Rather than play along, unfortunately, Shiro clears his throat, then stands, attracting the attention of the rest of the party.

“I think I’m going to turn in early,” he says, his face still slightly flushed. “We’ll head out at dawn.”

Hunk groans miserably, slumping down in his chair. “Shiro, you are merciless.”

Shiro blinks down at Hunk, then shrugs. He doesn’t respond to that, though, and Lance is really hoping that’s because it’s true. Instead, Shiro scoots behind Lance’s chair and heads toward the stairs, his cape fluttering behind him. 

Leaning his chin in his hand, Lance watches him go, already forming a plan of attack.

\--

Later that night, after everyone else has gone to bed, Lance puts his plan into motion.

It’s second nature to him to leave his own room, creep across the landing, and let himself into Shiro’s unlocked room without making a sound. He closes the door behind himself, then locks it just in case. Shiro’s deep, steady breath doesn’t hitch or falter; as light a sleeper as the man tends to be, Lance is too good at what he does to be found out so easily. 

He moves over to the bed slowly, happily taking in the way Shiro’s bare shoulders look in the bright moonlight streaming in through the window. He sleeps pretty much on his face, which Lance finds unbearably adorable for some reason. It might be the way Shiro’s cheek looks squished against the pillow, or maybe the way the persistent frown line between those thick eyebrows fades away when he’s dreaming. Or maybe the fact that he’s not wearing that strange circlet anymore, and he’s apparently been hiding a poof of soft white hair beneath it. If anything, it just makes him more attractive.

Lance looks him over for a moment longer, lingering on those buff arms wrapped around his flimsy pillow, before he rests a knee on the mattress beside Shiro. He pushes down purposefully, shifting the mattress and making the bedframe groan quietly, which is more than enough to alert Shiro to his presence.

He’d honestly expected Shiro to wake up more violently. As a man whose whole adopted family had been burned alive by a massive demon, and whose drive is fueled almost entirely by revenge, it’d be understandable if Shiro was a little paranoid.

Surprisingly, though, Shiro just opens one eye and blinks blearily up at Lance, who is still preparing to roll right the fuck out of the room if he needs to.

There’s a long silence where neither of them move, but Shiro breaks it first with a low, rumbling groan, burying his face back into his pillow. Lance’s heart flutters wildly. “Time ‘s it?” Shiro mumbles. 

“Still late,” Lance whispers. He takes a chance and leans onto the bed more, resting his weight on his hands. Shiro makes a muffled sound, but doesn’t recoil or startle, so Lance grins to himself and comes to kneel beside him. 

With a deep breath, Shiro rolls onto his side to face Lance, running a hand down his face. “What’s wrong?”

So concerned. What a guy. Lance hums and rests a hand on Shiro’s bed-warm shoulder, gently pushing him onto his back and leaning over him. “I wouldn’t say anything’s _wrong._ ” Shiro blinks up at him again, adorably confused. Lance smiles and brushes the man’s bangs away from his face, dragging his thumb along his cheek. 

Moving slowly, giving Shiro time to turn him down, Lance sits back on his heels and pulls his shirt off, dropping it lazily off the side of the bed. He’s glad he left his overcoat and his wide array of sharp objects in his room, because the way Shiro’s looking at him right now, his eyes dragging along Lance’s bare torso, up to his fluffy, flicking ears and down again has Lance just a little flustered. 

Shiro licks his lips, tangling his fingers in the sheets. “I’m dreaming.”

“Ooh, are you?” Lance snickers. He crawls closer to Shiro, then swings one of his legs over the man’s strong hips, settling himself comfortably in his lap. To his endless delight, Shiro’s already half-hard under him, so he rocks his ass back against him gently, just to tease. “Think it’s gonna be a good dream, big guy?”

Blinking slowly, Shiro takes a deep breath, then murmurs, “So far, best dream I’ve ever had.”

Despite himself, Lance’s heart flutters. He leans over Shiro on his hands again, grinning widely and spreading his thighs just a little more, eagerly showing off. “Wanna see if we can make it better?”

Shiro groans at that, his hips arching up into Lance’s, but before Lance has time to really think about how much he liked that low, rumbling sound, Shiro is leaning up onto one of his elbows and tugging him down into a lazy, messy kiss. 

Lance hums against him and tilts his head slightly, fitting their lips together better so he can lick into Shiro. Already craving more of the way those rough hands feel on his skin, Lance settles himself comfortably on Shiro’s broad chest and sways his hips idly. He threads his fingers into Shiro’s hair and tugs gently, catching his lower lip between his teeth and nibbling just to tease. Shiro makes another one of those deep, aroused sounds at the feeling, leaning into Lance’s hand encouragingly.

God, Lance has it so bad already.

As they kiss, Shiro melts into his attention, but before long he starts putting his hands on Lance, too. This would absolutely not be a problem, but for the fact that Lance wants several very specific things from Shiro, and most of them involve him lying back and letting Lance blow his mind. The hands on him are nice, his grip needy, but he seems to think he’s being subtle about getting ready to flip them over, and Lance prides himself on always being three steps ahead.

He sits up in Shiro’s lap, earning himself a soft, despondent sound. _So_ cute. He licks his lips and drags his hands down the man’s chest, easing the sheet down further so he can better admire how ripped Shiro is. “Man, you look better under all that armor than I expected,” Lance laughs. “And I had high expectations, let me tell you.”

Shiro flushes at that, his hands coming to rest on Lance’s hips. He soothes his rough thumbs along Lance’s hips, but once again, he’s shifting his weight and bracing Lance against himself, so Lance clicks his tongue and grabs his wrists, then pins them to the sheets with a wide grin.

“Now, now,” he hums, leaning in to nudge his nose against Shiro’s cheek. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Shiro grumbles, rocking his hips up against Lance’s. He’s obviously trying to distract him, and even as tempting as the hard length dragging along the apex of his thighs may be, Lance is nothing if not determined.

He sits up again and gives Shiro a teasing smile, not letting go of his wrists yet. “Why don’t we play a game?”

Shiro squints at him suspiciously. “Am I going to like this?”

Lance absolutely leers at him. “If I’m right about you, then you’ll _love_ it.” Shiro raises his eyebrows curiously, so Lance hums, then leans down and kisses him again before he whispers, “You look like you want someone to take care of you. So why don’t you let me do that?”

The low sound Shiro makes would probably be nearly inaudible, if not for how good Lance’s hearing is. Those grey eyes flutter closed for a moment, before he looks back up at Lance again, his hooded gaze dark with arousal. 

“Gonna need you to pinch me first.”

Lance blinks at him. “Why, exactly?”

“Because if this actually is a dream and I wake up in the middle, I’m going to be _really_ sad.”

Laughing softly, Lance sits up again, letting Shiro’s hands go. “God, you’re so cute.” He reaches down and pinches Shiro’s side, just enough to make the man squirm a little. “How’s that?”

Shiro shakes his head and snorts, moving his hands back to Lance’s hips. “I’ll take it.” Lance beams at him, dragging his palms down Shiro’s chest again. Breathing a soft hum, Shiro tightens his grip and pulls Lance down onto him, grinding his arousal harder against him. Lance shivers at the feeling, but he lets it slide, mostly because he’s kind of in love with how much he’s getting under this big strong paladin’s skin.

“Does this game of yours involve you taking your pants off soon?” Shiro asks, his teeth catching his lip. 

Lance feigns shock, placing a hand on his chest and gasping. “Why, Mr. Righteous, what a surprise. I thought you’d be more innocent.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “My oath and my desire to see you naked are two very different things.”

Snickering softly, Lance leans down and gives Shiro another teasing, bitey kiss, then climbs off the bed again. He makes quick work of his boots and his pants, pausing to drop the tin of oil he’d brought on the nightstand before he climbs back into Shiro’s lap. Before Shiro can get his hands on him again, Lance reaches down and wraps a hand around his own half-hard cock with a low sigh, teasing them both with the long, slow stroke he gives himself.

“If you must know,” Lance murmurs, pulling his hand away again so he can lean over Shiro. “My game involves you behaving for me while I make us both feel good. Sound good?” 

Shiro hums and licks his lips, his gaze darting between Lance’s face and where his tail is curling lazily behind him. Lance grins and flicks one of his fluffy ears, preening when that catches Shiro’s attention too, the man’s face flushing even darker.

“Y-yeah,” Shiro finally manages, “Sounds like a deal.” He blinks a few times, though, then reaches up and gently rests his palm against Lance’s cheek. “Is there anything you don’t like?”

Tilting his head curiously, Lance stares right back at him and asks, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You’re playing this game too, right?” Lance nods vacantly, and Shiro smiles at him, which is way more attractive than it has any right to be. “Then it’s a fair question. How about I let you know if you do anything I don’t like?”

Easy enough. Lance leans down for another long, lazy kiss, humming when Shiro licks between his lips with a soft groan. “Sounds fair.”

“Same goes for you?”

Lance laughs, but he combs his fingers through Shiro’s unruly bangs and nods. “Yeah, sure.” He shifts to run his thumb over Shiro’s flushed lower lip, ducking to kiss him again one more time before he gets to setting his plan in motion. 

He leans down to drag his lips down Shiro’s throat, purring when the man leans his head aside so easily for more. Sucking a light mark into his pulse as a reward, Lance sighs heavily, then shifts his weight to his knees so he can reach between them and flatten his palm against the hard curve of Shiro’s cock through his sheet. Shiro’s breath hitches as he rocks up into the feeling, but before he can do much more, Lance moves again.

As he mouths languidly down Shiro’s chest, Lance shifts slowly backward until he’s kneeling between Shiro’s legs. He drags his tongue along the line of dark hair leading down to the edge of the sheet, blinking widely up at Shiro, who is just watching patiently, his teeth digging into his lip.

Lance hums teasingly, pressing another hot kiss to Shiro’s hip, before he sits up and pulls the sheet back.

To his dismay, Shiro is not, in fact, sleeping naked.

Lance tries not to pout, but based on the way Shiro’s shaking with badly-contained laughter, he’s failing. Shiro’s loose, flimsy sleep pants do him all kinds of favors, probably even more so when he’s walking around, but right now Lance is hard-pressed to not just slice the damn things off of him. 

Shiro stops snickering at his expense and reaches down to untie them, letting Lance pull them off with a huff. Thankfully, that’s all he’s wearing, and what he finds was most certainly worth the wait. In fact, he’s just doing his best not to drool.

“You okay down there?” Shiro asks, very clearly amused. 

Rather than sass him back, Lance gives him a heated look, then leans right down and drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of Shiro’s thick cock. He’s so hot, and so hard already it has Lance a little dizzy. Shiro arches and gasps softly, one hand coming to rest tentatively on Lance’s head between his ears, just to touch. Lance allows it for now, but mostly because all of his attention is elsewhere at the moment.

He wraps his hand around the base of Shiro’s heavy arousal and angles him upright, licking his lips shamelessly. Giving him a few gentle strokes, Lance hums, then leans in and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the side, closing his eyes contently when Shiro twitches in his hand, against his lips. With a muffled, pleased sound, he mouths his way up, until he can drag his tongue over his soft foreskin. He strokes him more firmly to pull his foreskin back, then wraps his lips around the soaked head with a low moan, laving the tip of his tongue through the slit and moaning quietly when Shiro gasps his name and bucks his hips slightly.

Lance wastes no time bobbing his head and taking Shiro deeper, and even as skilled as he may be, he still has to take his time with him. Shiro’s actually stupid big, so Lance is already keenly feeling the weight of him in his jaw, and he has to be more careful of his fangs than usual. That does nothing but encourage him, though. 

Working his tongue around him and stroking what won’t fit yet, Lance closes his eyes and focuses, hollowing his cheeks just for the way Shiro’s breath stutters. Shiro spreads his thighs just a little wider to make room, his hand still affectionately dragging through Lance’s hair as he moves. Just as Lance relaxes and swallows more of him, though, Shiro groans, then shifts his fingers to gently scratch behind Lance’s soft ears, and Lance has to pull off quickly to keep from choking.

He takes a deep breath and releases it in a stuttering groan, squeezing the base of Shiro’s cock. As nice as that touch feels, Lance still reaches up and bats Shiro’s hand away, giving him a flustered frown.

Ever considerate, Shiro raises his hands placatingly. “S-sorry, is that not okay?”

Rather than respond, Lance’s frown deepens, his face flushed dark. He’s pretty sure that gets the point across, especially given the way Shiro licks his lips and breathes an interested hum. Grumbling under his breath, Lance points impatiently at the tin of oil on the bedside table. “Gimme that.”

Shiro does as he’s told, making sure to drag his fingers along Lance’s as he hands the tin over. He leans up on his elbows, though, and murmurs, “Where can I touch you?”

Lance looks up from where he’s slicking his fingers, blinking widely. He runs through the incredibly long list of places he’d _love_ for Shiro to put his hands, but most of them would require a change of position, and Lance is still sticking to his current goal.

“Just don’t touch the ears, okay?” he huffs finally, laving his tongue over the head of Shiro’s cock. “Distracting me.”

Shiro hums again, but it seems that for now, he’s going to behave. He combs his fingers gently through Lance’s bangs, then soothes the pad of his thumb over the tattoos on his cheek cautiously, like he’s not sure if they’re painted on or not. Satisfied, Lance presses another hot, wet kiss against hard flesh, then shifts to rub his slick fingers against Shiro’s entrance.

When Shiro’s breath catches, Lance looks up at him, checking to make sure he’s okay. Shiro nods at him, thankfully, looking adorably bashful as he spreads his knees wider, propping one foot up slightly to give him a better angle.

With that, Lance rumbles contently, then takes Shiro back into his mouth. He resumes the slow, deep rhythm he had before he’d gotten distracted, but once Shiro’s started relaxing into it again, he rubs his fingers against him again, testing the waters. Unable to resist, he teases Shiro a bit, barely pressing the tip of his finger in before letting it slide away through the oil, earning himself a soft, hitched sound every time.

Lance finally has mercy on him, though, because even though Shiro could easily take the upper hand, he keeps to his word and doesn’t touch Lance’s ears, doesn’t try to take any more than Lance is giving him. For as good as he’s being, Lance figures he deserves a reward.

As he presses his finger against Shiro again, this time he works it inside of him, and as he does so, he swallows down as much as he can, moaning raggedly at the taste of his precome. Shiro gasps and arches his back at the feeling, sinking a little further onto Lance’s finger, so he slides it in to the knuckle and swallows again. 

The hand in his hair is starting to shake, brushing clumsily against his ears, but Lance just flicks them and focuses. He thrusts his finger gently, taking his sweet time with the man. He keeps sucking him off, his other hand still holding onto the base of his arousal, and even though Shiro’s size makes it impossible for Lance to keep it neat, Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s enjoying the wet sounds of Lance’s mouth on him, although that could also have something to do with the way Lance is steadily crooking his finger inside of him. 

Lance’s original goal with his fingers was just to reduce Shiro to a molten puddle while he sucked him off. He wanted to see Shiro squirm for him, and honestly, he thought he’d have to beg to use his fingers like this, like he usually does with big strong warrior types. 

The way Shiro’s reacting, though, spreading those strong thighs and doing his best to keep still, panting quietly as he restlessly combs his hand through Lance’s hair... he can’t help but wonder if Shiro would like having Lance inside of him. 

The mental image has him groaning around Shiro’s cock, taking him deep and swallowing just for the way Shiro’s voice cracks. He could treat Shiro so well, could roll him back onto his stomach and fuck him open slow and sweet, putting his hands all over that incredible body while Shiro moans and gasps for him, rolling his hips back into Lance’s.

It’s so goddamn tempting. He hadn’t expected Shiro to be this _cute._

Rather than try to decide right now, though, Lance forces himself back on track. The first part of his plan is the same either way; suck Shiro’s brains out through his dick.

Lance hums and shifts his weight, bobbing his head a little faster, unconcerned for how sloppy he’s being. He laves his tongue over Shiro with a moan, then swallows him down again, and as Shiro’s shivering and arching for him, Lance works a second finger inside him, burying them deep and spreading them gently. 

When he curls his fingers up again and rubs them firmly over Shiro’s sweet spot, the man bucks his hips and outright _whimpers._ Lance chokes slightly, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much, not when Shiro sounds so gorgeous like this. 

He pulls back to draw breath, licking his wet lips as Shiro squirms and pets him clumsily. “S-sorry, sorry,” Shiro gasps, his concerned expression so sincere even with how undone he looks right now. 

Lance’s heart flutters again. He chooses to ignore it, instead leaning back in and mouthing hot and wet up the sensitive underside of Shiro’s cock, his fingers still dragging slow, firm circles inside of him. Shiro makes another sweet sound at that, arching his hips back onto Lance’s fingers, so needy it makes Lance a little dizzy. He hadn’t really expected Shiro to be this honest about his pleasure, had been expecting to have to work for a single moan, but he’s never been more happy to be wrong about something.

There’s an urgent tug on his hair then, so Lance blinks back up at Shiro again as he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, humming in question. Shiro twitches and gasps, his brow furrowed, before managing, “I’m gonna—gonna come if you keep that up.”

Lance hums again, keeping his hooded gaze on Shiro’s as he takes him deeper, working his tongue languidly over achingly hard flesh, watching the man’s lips part around a shaky sigh. Before he can tease too much, though, he pulls off with a wet pop and asks, “Can you get it up again?”

Shiro’s eyes widen, but he nods quickly, his teeth catching his lower lip. Thank god. Lance breathes an approving sound for him, giving him a slow, tight stroke as a reward. He guides Shiro back between his lips and focuses on sucking and licking as he continues massaging Shiro’s prostate, eager to hear what other kinds of pretty noises he can get him to make.

True to his word, Shiro doesn’t last long after that. He spreads his thighs more, though, and rocks his hips onto Lance’s fingers with these soft, huffing moans, and it doesn’t take much more than Lance groaning around him, then swallowing him deep to tip him over. 

When Shiro comes, his back arches tight and his head falls back, his hips shaking with pleasure as he raggedly moans Lance’s name for him, the sound so perfect that Lance can’t help but drop one hand to his own arousal, giving himself a firm squeeze. He pulls back just enough that the fat head of Shiro’s cock rests on his tongue, spilling hot into his mouth and twitching, and when he hums, then swallows easily, Shiro’s fist tightens in his hair. 

Lance strokes him through his orgasm, watching him dazedly, unable to tear his eyes away. Shiro is _fantastic,_ so much more fun than Lance had been expecting, and the bar had been pretty fucking high from the moment he laid eyes on him. 

He has mercy when Shiro whines for him, pulling his hands away and crawling up the bed to lazily settle himself on top of Shiro. He folds his arms across the man’s broad chest and gives him a wide, teasing grin, his tail curling in the air behind himself, and when Shiro brings his hands to rest on the small of Lance’s back, hums, “Enjoy yourself, big guy?”

Shiro nods brainlessly, blinking up at Lance before tugging him closer, wrapping his arms more firmly around him. Lance does his best not to swoon. Shiro gives him a smile, though, and drags the pad of his thumb across Lance’s lower lip with a low hum.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, so tender Lance can’t help but melt. 

Before Shiro can pick up on how weak to praise he is, Lance sits up in his lap and reaches behind himself, retrieving the oil tin and slicking his fingers again. Shiro raises his eyebrows curiously, especially when Lance splays himself across his chest again and arches his ass into the air, already reaching back to tease his fingers over his own entrance.

As much as Lance wants to fuck Shiro, he can’t pass up the opportunity to show Shiro just how incredible he can be. 

Shiro watches hazily as Lance slides a finger inside himself, sighing raggedly at the feeling, his tail waving languidly. Those broad hands soothe down Lance’s spine, petting him tenderly, helping him relax even further. Lance nuzzles into Shiro’s chest with a huff and presses his finger deep, then thrusts it gently. 

“What’re you doing?” Shiro asks softly, burying one hand in Lance’s hair again. 

Lance hums, then leans up to give Shiro a crooked grin. “Prepping myself?”

“O-oh.” Shiro licks his lips, his eyes following Lance’s tail again. “You want me to...?”

“To fuck me? Oh yeah.” Lance moans softly and eases another finger into himself, licking his lips. “We can swap next time. I just wanna sit on this—” he rocks his hips down against Shiro’s half-hard cock, “— _really_ fucking bad.”

Shiro groans for him, his hands gripping Lance tighter. It’s nowhere close to how strong he knows Shiro can be, but it’s just enough to tease, and Lance is already so, so weak for him. 

“We still playing that game of yours?” Shiro murmurs, gently swiping his knuckles over Lance’s flushed cheek.

“Yup.” Lance grins and nips teasingly at the tip of Shiro’s thumb, patiently spreading his own fingers inside himself. He could move faster, but he still needs to give Shiro time to recover, so he focuses instead on doing a good job prepping himself. 

With a low hum, Shiro tugs Lance up for another wet, messy kiss, one hand still buried in his hair. His other hand is drawing lazy circles over the small of Lance’s back, moving slowly but surely toward the base of his tail. He passes it by, surprisingly, and slides his hand down to grab Lance’s ass instead, using his grip there to pull Lance more firmly into his arms. 

As he’s being kissed brainless, Lance can’t help but moan into Shiro, doing his best to keep spreading and curling his fingers inside himself. He jumps when he feels thick, rough fingers brush against his knuckles, blinking up at Shiro, who’s watching him with dark, needy eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” Shiro breathes, gently nudging his nose against Lance’s. 

Lance gives him a shaky grin. “What happened to you behaving yourself?”

“I’ll be good, I promise.” The low, rumbling quality to Shiro’s voice has Lance shivering. “I just wanna help.” Shiro laughs softly, tilting his head to mouth along the angle of Lance’s jaw. “It’ll help get me going again faster, too.”

Humming raggedly, Lance tilts his head aside and moans as Shiro drags his tongue up his throat, those fingers still teasing around his entrance. He slips his fingers out and grabs for the oil again, holding it out impatiently, and when Shiro takes it, Lance slithers out of his lap.

Before Shiro can pout too much, Lance turns around and straddles his waist, facing away from him this time. He grins over his shoulder and arches his hips back, dragging the tip of his tail up Shiro’s cheek just to tease, and when Shiro’s eyes widen almost comically, Lance doesn’t even try to stifle his laugh. 

He can’t laugh for long, though. Shiro slicks his fingers quickly, probably with too much oil, and as he pushes one thick finger into Lance, his free hand comes to rest on his hip, holding him still. Lance gasps and rocks his hips back, bracing his hands in the sheets between Shiro’s thighs. 

If he was just a little shorter, he could take Shiro between his lips again, help him along with his tongue. As it is, Lance can’t quite reach him with his mouth, even as flexible as he is, which is a damn shame. He settles for spreading his thighs and moaning softly as Shiro thrusts his finger into him, idly winding his tail around the man’s wrist. 

Surprisingly, Shiro doesn’t tease him much. He works him open on his fingers, curling them and spreading them just to learn Lance a little better, learn where he likes to be touched. He doesn’t seem to need any help himself, either; true to his word, by the time he’s spreading three fingers inside Lance, he’s hard again, his arousal flushed and heavy against his stomach. Lance lets his head drop so he can stare down at his cock again, his vision swimming slightly the more Shiro crooks his fingers. _God,_ he wants that inside him.

Unable to wait any more, Lance tugs on Shiro’s wrist with his tail, flicking the tip impatiently. Shiro gets the picture and slips his fingers out, then uses the remaining oil to slick himself with a ragged groan. 

Once Shiro’s pulled his hand off himself again, Lance sits up and moves down his body, still facing away from him. He leans up on his knees and reaches down to hold Shiro’s cock upright, and without further hesitation, presses down until the thick head slides inside of him.

Even just this much is incredible; Lance leans his head back with a breathy sound, his thighs shaking. He’s not worried about them giving out, though, because Shiro’s hands are holding tight onto his hips, keeping him steady, keeping him from taking too much too fast. So considerate. Lance lets him guide their pace, dragging a hand through his own hair and letting his eyes slide closed as he takes in more of him. 

He’d expected Shiro to stop him halfway down, to try and make him take it slower, but to his delight, Shiro doesn’t do anything but support him as he sinks all the way down on him. When he’s finally seated, every thick inch of Shiro buried deep inside him, Lance moans for him, squeezing tight around him just to feel how _nicely_ Shiro fills him up.

“F-fuck, Lance,” Shiro gasps, his restless hands roaming over Lance’s warm skin. “You feel so good...”

“Mhm, I know,” Lance replies breathlessly, trying his best to sound like he’s still got the upper hand here. He wiggles his hips and whines, still hopelessly enamored with the weight of Shiro’s cock, before bracing his hands on the sheets between Shiro’s thighs again and lifting his hips. 

He keeps his rhythm slow and easy at first, because despite what most of him actually wants, a small, reasonable part of him does know that he’s going to need to be able to at least walk tomorrow. 

Shiro doesn’t seem to mind the pace, though, if his grip on Lance’s hips is anything to go by. He’s panting behind him, trying to be subtle about rocking up into every lazy thrust, his toes already curling in the mussed sheets. Lance sighs fondly, then shifts his weight and starts pulling up higher, making sure to arch his back and lift his tail to give Shiro something to look at. 

“ _Lance,_ ” Shiro chokes out, his hands coming to squeeze Lance’s ass again. He drags the pad of his thumb over where Lance is stretched around him, so appreciative, so unashamed it has Lance whining for him. 

That hand shifts, though, and before Lance can bring himself to miss it, he feels Shiro’s fingers wrap gently around his tail, and he can’t help but freeze slightly. 

Immediately, Shiro lets go again, his hands coming to soothe up Lance’s sides. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, sitting up behind Lance so he can wrap one arm around his waist. “Are you okay?”

Lance leans back into his chest easily and takes a deep breath, his eyes sliding closed. “You can—you can touch it, just don’t pull on it,” he murmurs. He hopes Shiro can tell, but Lance is putting a lot of trust in him here. It’s a sensitive appendage, after all, and a little more delicate than the rest of him. 

Shiro nuzzles the back of his head and hugs him tighter, though, and whispers, “I won’t if it doesn’t do anything for you.”

Melting slightly, Lance hums at that, then reaches up and pulls Shiro down enough that he can kiss him over his shoulder, unconcerned for how sloppy it is at this angle. Shiro rumbles a low moan against him and licks between his lips, his hands exploring Lance’s flat stomach, petting him affectionately. 

“You can touch it,” Lance says again, his breath warm against Shiro’s lips. He grabs one of Shiro’s hands and squeezes it lightly, then pulls it back and coaxes him into wrapping his fingers back around his tail. “Want you to touch it.”

Shiro groans roughly, ducking to mouth down Lance’s neck again, seemingly eager to have his mouth on him for as long as Lance will let him. He strokes down his tail slowly, gently, and when Lance shivers against him, then relaxes with a low moan, Shiro sighs his name and rocks his hips up.

Shaking his head slightly, Lance reaches behind himself and pushes against Shiro’s chest, urging him to lie flat again. He throws him a grin over his shoulder, licking his lips eagerly at how flushed, how _needy_ Shiro looks, even though he’s gotten off once already. Satisfied with the mess he’s making of Shiro, Lance holds his gaze as he starts moving again. He arches up slowly, then takes him deep with every languid thrust, and each time, Shiro’s breath hitches, his eyes and his hands locked almost desperately on Lance.

Before Lance can start feeling too smug, Shiro starts stroking his tail again, his other hand still gripping Lance’s bony hip. He gives it a few more long pets, then grins up at him as he shifts his hand to the very base of Lance’s tail.

Lance squeezes around him and sighs, still watching him over his shoulder, but that’s not nearly enough to distract Shiro.

Shiro rubs his fingers firmly around the base of his tail, his thumb pressed against the skin just above where the fur starts, and even though Lance knows exactly how sensitive his own tail is, he still gasps and shivers, his head falling back with a wavering moan. 

Paladin’s too damn smart for his own good.

“You’re so gorgeous, Lance,” Shiro hums, still grinding up gently. Lance is badly distracted, his hips unsteady now, but rather than let go of his tail to let Lance regain his rhythm, Shiro slips his free hand up to Lance’s shoulder and tugs. “Lean back, okay? I got you.”

Even though this isn’t part of his plan, Lance spreads his thighs eagerly and leans back to brace his hands on either side of Shiro’s chest, and the way Shiro’s cock feels at this angle is downright _incredible._ That feeling combined with the way Shiro is still massaging the base of his tail has Lance whimpering, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Before long, Shiro takes over entirely, and Lance doesn’t have it in him to protest. Shiro feels fucking amazing rocking up into him, dragging _hard_ against his sweet spot and filling him up so good he can barely breathe. Lance lifts his hips slightly to give Shiro more room to move, which Shiro rewards with a low, appreciative moan. He obeys Lance’s unspoken plea, thrusting up into him steadily and humming at the way Lance gasps for him. 

The angle has Lance seeing stars, to say the least. Shiro’s so _big,_ but so gentle Lance can’t help but follow the rhythm he sets. Every time their hips meet, Shiro grinds up hard into him, earning himself a hitching moan, a wordless plea for more. 

Lance’s arms are shaking badly from the pleasure, but when they finally collapse under him, Shiro is there to catch him, easing him back against his chest with a groan. “Fuck, you’re flexible,” he gasps, moving both of his hands to Lance’s spread thighs. Lance laughs breathlessly, resting his trembling hands over Shiro’s. 

Shiro gives him a few more deep thrusts like this, groaning every time Lance squeezes him tightly, every time he moans for him. Before long, though, once Lance has started gasping and arching off his chest, bucking down onto his cock, Shiro sighs, then wraps his arms around him.

“Hey, turn over,” he murmurs, almost desperately nuzzling into Lance’s hair. “I wanna see your f-face, please?”

“Big softie,” Lance teases shakily, but only to cover for just how much Shiro’s loving treatment is making him tremble. He lets Shiro help him upright again, and when he pulls up off his cock, both of them moan for the loss. He turns around and straddles him again quickly, letting Shiro steady himself this time as he sinks right back onto him, letting his head fall back with a ragged whine. 

As he starts rolling his hips, taking Shiro deep and humming at the feeling, he leans forward on his hands and closes his eyes. He can feel Shiro watching him, though, can feel how much Shiro likes this with every needy twitch of his cock inside him. 

“Hey, look at me,” Shiro whispers, pulling Lance hard onto his cock and grinding up into him. Lance whimpers loudly, his back arching, his tail curling, but once he can think straight again, he obliges. He blinks his eyes open, somehow managing to focus on Shiro’s flushed face. 

God, the way Shiro’s _staring_ at him... Lance should feel uncomfortably vulnerable, should feel wrung out, scrutinized, but all he can think about is keeping those dark eyes locked on him for as long as possible.

Lance sits up in Shiro’s lap and licks his lips, settling his weight on his knees before he picks up the pace. Surprisingly, Shiro lets him, just holding onto his waist and watching as Lance speeds up until he’s flat out bouncing on Shiro’s cock. The bed is creaking and groaning under them, but Lance can’t spare a single thought for how loud they’re being. He’s far, _far_ too focused on how good Shiro feels inside him, how much he likes being spread open like this, being the center of Shiro’s attention.

By the time he reaches down to wrap a hand around his dripping arousal, he’s shaking with pleasure, driven almost completely out of his mind by the way Shiro lets him move, rocking his hips up into his thrusts and letting him control the pace. Shiro’s panting for him, too, moaning when Lance squeezes tight around him, when he drops harder onto his cock and whines his name.

It seems Shiro can’t go long without wanting to participate, though. He bites his lip and groans, then slides his hand around behind Lance, sitting up slightly so he can rub the base of his tail again. Lance’s breath hitches at the feeling, tightening hard around Shiro’s cock and arching into the feeling, which earns him a breathless moan. 

Lance keeps moving, keeps fucking himself on Shiro while the man teases his tail, still watching so intently. It’s hard for him to keep his eyes open when he feels this good, his cock slicking his quick, unsteady fingers, not even trying to keep time with his hips anymore. He’s getting close, so ready to come with Shiro buried deep inside him, ready to hear what kinds of noises Shiro might make when he finishes again. 

He’s so focused on Shiro’s cock, the hand on his tail, his own hand around his cock that he loses track of Shiro’s other hand. 

Warm fingers come to rest on Lance’s cheek, stroking down flushed, sweat-slick skin. Lance gasps and leans into the affection, nuzzling into Shiro’s hand, but before long, that hand moves again.

Shiro reaches up slowly, tentatively, making sure that Lance can feel his every move as he brings his fingers to stroke along the back of Lance’s ear.

Lance’s breath hitches, and he slams himself down on Shiro’s cock with a loud, desperate whine. 

Thankfully, Shiro doesn’t pull away. Rather, he breathes a low, rumbling hum and pets Lance’s ear more firmly, sliding his thumb gently up the soft, fluffy skin on the inside, and Lance is hard-pressed to keep his head on straight. 

He tilts his head hard into Shiro’s hand and keens, then starts moving his hips again, both hands resting on the man’s stomach. He’s lost his rhythm entirely now, thrown off by how sweetly Shiro rubs his ear, scratching the base of it, combing his fingers through the hair around it to keep it out of the way. Shiro’s moaning at the feeling too, his cock twitching eagerly inside Lance as he pets him, rocking his hips up into Lance as best he can. 

“I-I’m gonna come,” Lance gasps, his eyes shut tight. He fucks himself onto Shiro harder, chasing his orgasm almost frantically, tightening more and more around Shiro as it builds inside him, heat rushing through his veins and leaving him breathless. 

He barely hears Shiro’s encouraging murmurs, too distracted by how perfectly full he is, by the gentle caresses over his ears. He does feel Shiro’s hand move from his tail around to his cock, though, stroking him tight and quick. Lance leans his head back and bucks into the feeling, crying out for Shiro and shaking, and the way his back arches as he tenses has Shiro’s cock hitting him _so good,_ he can’t help but fall.

Blood rushes through his ears as he grinds down hard onto Shiro, so he can’t quite hear the sounds he’s making, nor the way they echo off the ceiling and surely through the locked door. He doesn’t have the brains to think about that, though. All he can think about is Shiro inside him, his hands on him, his voice low and affectionate as he strokes Lance through his orgasm. 

When he’s finally spent, Lance collapses weakly, but Shiro catches him so easily and wraps him in those strong arms, cradling him against his chest. He’s pressing soft, sweet kisses through Lance’s hair, his hands running down his scarred back, petting his tail with no intent but to soothe. 

He’s still hard, though, and Lance can’t have that.

Before he’s got even a fraction of his brains back, Lance rumbles deep in his chest and nuzzles under Shiro’s chin, dragging his fangs along the line of his throat. Shiro shivers and tilts his head back, and when Lance starts moving his hips again, all Shiro can do is melt for him.

Lance rolls down onto Shiro’s cock slow and steady, squeezing rhythmically around him as he sucks pink marks down his neck, nicking him with his fangs just to tease. He curls his tail around Shiro’s fingers, then reaches back and grabs one of his hands, smiling lazily as he guides that hand back to his ears. 

When Shiro starts playing with his ears again, Lance whimpers and squeezes _tight_ around him, but he keeps his hips moving, far from opposed to the overstimulation. Shiro’s rocking up into him, anyway, burying short whines in his hair and holding him close, and between Lance letting him touch and the way he must feel around him, Shiro can’t possibly hold on much more.

He lets out this gorgeous, keening moan when he comes, bucking up into Lance and clinging to him. He’s shaking, too, trembling and gasping so pretty Lance can’t help but hum, keeping him deep inside him and grinding into his lap to help him along. 

After a moment, Shiro moves his hands to Lance’s hips and holds him still, nuzzling brainlessly into his hair. Lance laughs, but obliges, letting himself melt against Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro keeps petting him while they come down, and the feeling is so damn soothing that Lance almost falls asleep. He startles slightly when Shiro pulls out of him, only pouting a little. The frown deepens when the man rolls him onto the bed, though, so he squints up at him and grumbles.

All Shiro does is laugh, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Lance’s thin lips before he slides out of bed and over to the table in the corner. He digs around in his pack for a moment until he pulls out a strip of soft-looking cloth with a triumphant sound, then turns and dunks it in the wash basin. He wrings it out and turns back around, pausing momentarily, probably distracted by the way Lance has stretched himself out to take up the entire bed. Score.

Shaking his head fondly, Shiro comes and fits himself into the small space Lance had left him, then gently wipes him down with the cloth, his touch so careful Lance feels himself melting again.

Blinking widely, Shiro stares at him, then leans down and turns an ear toward him. He gives him a wide, playful grin and laughs, “Are you purring?”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Um. _No._ ”

He’s definitely purring.

“Yeah, okay,” Shiro snorts, clearly unconvinced. He lets it go, though, focusing instead on getting both of them cleaned up, then tucked under the sheets. 

Lance hadn’t intended to stay the night when he first snuck in, but Shiro had treated him so damn well that Lance feels like absolute jelly. Plus, the way he’s cradling him in those strong arms again is too damn nice for Lance to turn down, not to mention the gentle kisses Shiro’s dragging along his temple, then over his lips, breathing a content hum against him. 

Fuck it, Lance decides as he wraps his entire body around Shiro and maybe purrs some more. What’s one night?

\--

The next morning, Lance discovers how Shiro always manages to get up right at dawn. The hard way.

Shiro had specifically requested an east-facing room, and he’d drawn back the curtains before he went to sleep, so Lance wakes up with his face buried in the back of Shiro’s head, and with far too many sunbeams dancing over the mountains directly into his eyes. 

Groaning raggedly, Lance scoots down and uses Shiro’s broad shoulders as a shield from the light, folding himself tightly against the man’s back. 

He thumps his tail against the bed a few times, but being Shiro’s big spoon is so warm and comfortable that he settles down again pretty quickly. Shiro is still breathing deeply, his arms wrapped around his pillow so he can stuff his face in it, as opposed to just using the damn thing like a normal human. It’s kind of adorable, though, so Lance just nuzzles into the nape of Shiro’s neck and purrs. 

As much as he’d like to go back to sleep, once something wakes Lance up, there’s usually no going back. He stays where he is anyway, breathing a sleepy sigh against Shiro’s skin. 

Between the light and Lance’s shifting, Shiro starts waking up too. He’d expected Shiro to be obnoxiously chipper in the mornings, what with his insistence that they all set off at dawn every day, but all he’s done so far is bury his face deeper into his pillow and groan.

Leaning up curiously, Lance peers down at Shiro, then gently pokes his cheek. The only sign of life he gets is a slight twitch.

Shiro is definitely not a morning person, and Lance’s heart gives a very stupid flutter at that realization. What a dumb thing to like about a person.

Flushing loudly, Lance rolls onto his back and buries his face in his hands, grumbling to himself. Now that he’s not directly attached to Shiro, though, the man starts displaying some sentience. Namely, he makes a muffled, disgruntled sound, then reaches behind himself and pats around Lance’s stomach. He grabs Lance’s hip and awkwardly pulls him back onto his side, then backs into him, settling contently when they’re spooned together again.

God, Lance is so fucked.

In an attempt to save some face (although he’s not sure Shiro’s conscious enough to notice), Lance hums and presses a warm kiss against Shiro’s shoulder, lazily dragging his palm up the man’s chest. 

“Morning, grouchy.”

“Mrmph,” is about all Shiro has for him. He’s relaxing under Lance’s affection, though, his grip on his pillow loosening just a little. 

“Wow, what charisma,” Lance snickers, playfully nipping the nape of Shiro’s neck. The man twitches again, then pushes his hips back against Lance’s, sighing loudly. Breathing an interested hum, Lance kisses along Shiro’s shoulder, then runs his hand down his stomach, drawing lazy shapes down his bed-warm skin until he can slide his fingers through the dark hair leading down from Shiro’s navel.

Before long, his wrist bumps into Shiro’s cock, already hard and just a little wet.

“Ooh, look at you.” Lance wraps his fingers loosely around Shiro, shifting to drag his tongue up the man’s ear. “Not as grouchy as I thought, hmm?”

Shiro mumbles at that, but he stretches slightly and presses into Lance’s touch, finally pulling his face out of the pillow. “Morning wood,” he explains gruffly, like that is at all a deterrent to Lance.

“I see that,” he laughs, before he squeezes him a little tighter, then slips the pad of his thumb through his slit, sighing softly at the way Shiro shivers. 

“Should get up,” Shiro rumbles, although he’s not making a particularly good case for it. He drags a hand down his face, not even trying to detach himself from Lance. “The others are probably getting ready.”

Lance snorts at that. “Shiro, literally the only person who actually wakes up at dawn is you. The others are gonna be out until you come knocking.”

Shiro huffs something in response, but the way Lance strokes him again derails whatever it was. He arches his hips into the feeling, one hand coming to rest on Lance’s forearm. He pauses, waiting for Shiro to tell him no or push him away, but when all Shiro does is rub his thumb over the inside of his wrist, Lance hums contently and starts moving his hand again.

Unable to resist, Lance cuddles closer and rocks his hips against Shiro’s ass, sighing hot at the way his cock drags against his warm skin. He shuffles down a little until he can grind between Shiro’s cheeks, leaning his forehead between his shoulders.

He gets a few lazy thrusts in before Shiro squeezes his wrist again, catching his attention. The man seems a little more awake now, although he’s badly pretending not to be, which is absurdly cute for some reason. Lance wants to keep him here all morning, to keep pulling these soft noises out of him until neither of them can stand it anymore.

“Lance...” Shiro’s voice, soft and shaky, pulls Lance back out of his head, so he leans up and blinks down at him. Shiro is definitely more awake, but he’s flushed bright red and sucking on his lips, very focused on fiddling idly with a wrinkle in the sheets.

Grinning widely, Lance snuggles into him and squeezes his cock teasingly. “Yes?”

Shiro’s breath catches before he can continue. He swallows heavily, then rocks his hips back pointedly, and suddenly all Lance can think about is how cute Shiro had looked last night, squirming and spreading his thighs for Lance. 

Hell, he’d promised they’d swap next time. May as well make good on that.

Lance purrs against him, not bothering to hide the sound. He starts moving his hand again, burying his face into the crook of Shiro’s shoulder and pressing his hips forward. It might be playing with fire, but Lance can’t resist the urge to play with him a little. He sucks a light mark into his shoulder, then leans up to his ear and whispers, “Why don’t we let the others sleep in some more, hmm?” 

Shiro sighs raggedly, then turns just enough to catch Lance’s lips, reaching back to rest his hand on the back of Lance’s head. Lance makes a happy sound, licking into him as he gives him a nice, tight stroke, slipping his thumb through Shiro’s slick precome. 

“I believe,” he whispers, letting Shiro interrupt him with another quick, bitey kiss. “That I made you a deal last night.” Shiro groans and arches for Lance, his fingers tightening in his hair. “Sound good?”

Nodding quickly, Shiro pulls him close again, but when Lance starts pulling himself away, Shiro lets him go with only a little pouting.

Lance rolls over and grabs the tin they’d put on the side table at some point, his fingers sliding through excess oil smeared on the outside of it. Cursing softly, Lance does his best to wipe it off with the sheet, then turns back to Shiro and presses a hot kiss against the nape of his neck.

The mental image from last night is still too tempting to pass up. Lance sits up and coaxes Shiro back onto his stomach, letting him grab his pillow again for something to cling to. 

He pulls the sheets away from them and drags his hand slowly down the curve of Shiro’s spine, admiring his scarred skin, his gorgeous body with his fingers. Shiro shivers for him, resting his cheek against the pillow so he can watch Lance, his face already flushed a gorgeous pink.

Humming warmly, Lance shifts to straddle the backs of Shiro’s buff thighs, leaning over him again so he can feel that strong body under his, so he can press his lips against Shiro’s cheek. “You want me like this, big guy?” he whispers, grinning crookedly when Shiro swallows, then nods eagerly. “Why so shy, huh? You were so cute last night.” Lance sighs and nuzzles him, then breathes, “Gonna be so good to you, Shiro, make you feel so nice.”

Shiro makes a soft, breathy noise at that, already nodding again and squirming under him. Lance leans down for one more lazy kiss, humming when Shiro playfully nibbles at his lips, before he sits up again and slides his hands down to rest on Shiro’s ass.

Lance purrs appreciatively, then shifts down so he can kneel between Shiro’s thighs. Without Lance’s weight to hold him in place, Shiro easily spreads his knees wider and arches his ass back, which is an image Lance doubts he will ever be able to forget as long as he lives. He groans roughly and smacks Shiro’s ass, then squeezes firmly, and when he glances back up, Shiro is giving him a wide, teasing grin.

Without a doubt, Lance is very, _very_ fucked.

He huffs softly, giving Shiro another swat before patting around for the oil again. It takes some effort, but he manages to get the tin open again, grumbling to himself about making less of a mess next time. He reaches over and puts it back on the table, then dips his fingers into the oil, making sure they’re nice and wet before he straightens up again. 

Since Shiro’s still a little sleepy, and since he’d been so pliant for Lance last night, it’s easy to press a finger into him to the knuckle. Lance hums and curls it gently, just enough to coax a quiet sigh out of Shiro. 

He sets to work, though, because his intention this time isn’t to make Shiro whine with just his fingers. Slipping another finger into him, Lance licks his lips and thrusts them slowly, reaching under Shiro to palm his cock with his free hand. Shiro’s already dripping for him, muffling his shaky sighs in the pillow, his hips twitching between Lance’s hands, and god, Lance wants him like this all damn day.

Glancing down again, Lance watches the way his fingers spread Shiro open, how easily he relaxes for him and takes him deeper. He eases a third finger inside him, groaning at the way Shiro’s breath hitches, the way he tightens around his fingers so eagerly. 

By the time Lance slides his fingers out of Shiro again, both of them are getting impatient, their skin sweat-slick in the warm morning sunlight. Lance reaches down to rub the leftover oil onto his cock, dragging a hot, wet kiss along Shiro’s shoulder as he does. He scoots closer then, nuzzling Shiro gently before murmuring, “You good?”

Shiro nods quickly, arching his hips up more. “C’mon, pretty boy, want you...”

Lance can’t help it. He whimpers. 

He’s right next to Shiro’s ear, too, so there’s no way he didn’t hear it. No amount of burying his face against Shiro’s shoulder will hide that sound now, and Lance can practically _hear_ Shiro grinning. 

Before the man can tease him, Lance reaches down to steady his cock against Shiro’s entrance, then presses his hips forward with a ragged groan. 

Shiro’s so pliant for him, just as pretty in the day as he had been in the moonlight, and he opens up for Lance so perfectly it has his head spinning a little. He’s biting down on his pillow, his panting breaths muffled against the fabric, but the way he’s shuffling up onto his knees and arching back onto Lance’s cock keeps him from worrying too much.

Once he’s bottomed out, Lance lets himself melt against Shiro’s back for a moment, just to catch his breath. Shiro feels _so good,_ so hot and tight around him, taking all of him so well all Lance can do is whine. 

After a moment to adjust, Lance pushes his weight back up onto his hands and braces his knees, mouthing idly along Shiro’s shoulder as he rocks his hips experimentally. Shiro shivers, but he pushes back onto him with an low, encouraging moan, so Lance huffs softly and pulls back.

As eager as they’d been, the pace Lance sets is slow and easy, gentle enough that he gets to appreciate the way Shiro stretches and squirms under him, the way he feels taking him deep with every thrust. He rests his forehead on Shiro’s shoulder and looks between them, watching the way his hips look pushing against Shiro’s wonderful ass. If he pulls out enough, he can clearly see himself slipping back into him, but that image is just a little too much for Lance’s fuzzy brain this early.

Instead, he closes his eyes and moans for Shiro, grinding his hips deep and earning himself a low, rumbling groan, still badly muffled by the pillow. He lets Shiro keep the pillow, though. If last night was any indication, Shiro’s the kind of person who likes to cling to something when he feels good, and Lance isn’t about to take that away from him. 

He can still hear his noises well enough, anyway. Giant, pointy ears have their perks. 

“Fuck, Shiro,” Lance gasps, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder again. “S-so tight...”

Shiro breathes a wavering moan in reply, turning his head enough that Lance can see how flushed he is, how pretty he looks when he feels this good. He understands now why Shiro wanted to see his face so badly last night. 

Wanting to take Shiro apart more, to see just how high he can take him, Lance spreads his knees and rocks down into him more, grinding deep into him until he finds the right angle. Shiro tightens around him _so_ nicely, his lips parting around a shaky sigh, so Lance moans against his skin and asks, “That it?”

Shiro nods quickly, shivering and arching back for more. Purring quietly, Lance hums and keeps to that angle, absently rubbing his face against Shiro’s shoulder. He feels so _good,_ sounds so good, all Lance can do is keep moving, keep thrusting into him and drinking in those sweet sounds. Shiro is melting under him, his thighs shaking slightly, but like last night, he isn’t demanding more or taking any more than Lance is giving him, still letting himself be taken care of.

Lance finds himself suddenly desperate to please him. He wants to stay true to his word, to treat Shiro so nicely he won’t be able to see straight, to spoil him absolutely fucking rotten the way he deserves. 

Groaning quietly, Lance rocks his hips harder, making sure to grind deep with every thrust just to feel how Shiro tightens around him and gasps. He keeps his pace slow, though, and teasingly drags the tip of his tail along Shiro’s thigh, earning himself a shaky moan of his name. Fuck, Lance wants more of that.

He reaches under Shiro then, sliding his hand along the sheets until he finds where Shiro’s cock is rubbing against them, leaving wet streaks along the warm fabric. Lance groans at that, at how slick Shiro is, absolutely dripping for him, and gently wraps his hand around him. Shiro’s hips buck a little, but he melts under him, moaning shakily and arching for more, so Lance squeezes him, then sets to stroking him in time to his thrusts.

Shiro leans his head back and gasps, “L-Lance, Lance... tighter, please?”

Lance’s brain kind of explodes at that, so it takes him a moment to reorient himself and oblige. He grips Shiro tighter and strokes him harder, still managing to keep their lazy rhythm. Shiro doesn’t seem to mind it, though, his brows knitting as he pants openly, rocking easily into Lance’s hand, then back onto his cock. 

Biting his lip hard, Lance squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on pleasing Shiro, mostly to try and fight off the orgasm building tight in his gut. He wants to draw this out, to be as good to Shiro as he possibly can, so he takes a deep, unsteady breath and focuses on fucking Shiro just how he seems to like, just the ways that have him sighing Lance’s name, breathing those rough, shaky moans for him, cursing raggedly whenever Lance hits him particularly well.

He still has his forehead pressed against Shiro’s shoulder, eyes still closed, so when the man starts shifting under him slightly, Lance doesn’t realize right away what he’s doing. He just hums to him and squeezes his cock, trying not to let the wet sounds of his fingers sliding through Shiro’s precome be his undoing.

When Shiro’s hand finally comes to rest on the back of Lance’s head again, he groans and nips gently at his shoulder, brainlessly showing him affection.

That hand shifts, though, pulling lightly on Lance’s hair before he combs his fingers up to one of Lance’s ears.

Lance freezes, but melts quickly at the feeling, letting himself rock a little more sloppily into Shiro. He’s probably purring again too, but he doesn’t have the room in his head to think about that. All he can think about is Shiro’s warm, bare skin under him, his cock buried deep inside him, Shiro rubbing his cock against Lance’s hand so eagerly. 

As Shiro pets his ears again, Lance lets go for him, whimpering and gasping freely against his shoulder. The movements of his hips grow needy, desperate to feel Shiro’s heat around himself, and Shiro is nothing if not spurred on by the feeling. He’s clearly enjoying himself, moaning Lance’s name and panting heavily as he strokes that soft, fluffy skin. He scratches behind one of Lance’s ears, too, which has Lance keening for him and snapping his hips deep, whining Shiro’s name for him with no concern for volume.

Desperate to get Shiro off first, Lance sinks his teeth into the man’s shoulder and strokes him tighter, not bothering to be careful with his fangs. Shiro arches tight under him and chokes out a noisy moan, bucking back onto Lance and squeezing around him.

When Lance thumps his tail against Shiro’s trembling thigh, his ear flicking against the man’s fingers as he swipes the pad of his thumb over the soaked head of his cock, Shiro lets out an adorable, wavering sound and throws his head back. He’s so _tight,_ and Lance can feel his thick come spilling over his fingers, so he gasps sweet, broken praise for him and strokes him through it, shamelessly fucking into his tight heat as he does. 

Shiro sounds so fucking _good_ when he comes, their skin sliding hot as they tense against each other, but it’s the way he feels desperately rocking onto Lance’s cock that has him seeing stars again. 

His thrusts grow short and uneven, burying himself deep as he comes inside Shiro, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. Shiro’s still brainlessly playing with his ears, too, which honestly just makes it even harder for Lance to hold in his overwhelmed sounds. 

Panting raggedly against Shiro’s shoulder, Lance slides his arm under Shiro’s stomach and melts against him, trusting the man to hold his weight. He does so easily, his fingers now soothing through Lance’s hair again as they catch their breath. Lance just clings to him and flexes his hips into him one last time, earning himself a low, winded groan of his name. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Lance mumbles against his skin. He can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it, either, not when Shiro huffs a rough, attractive laugh and tugs on his hair.

“If I’m still dreaming, I’m not too sure I wanna wake up.”

Lance snorts at that, but he nuzzles into Shiro’s neck with a happy sound anyway. If he’s purring again, neither of them comment on it.

It takes them some time to separate from each other, then even longer to get cleaned up, especially with the way they keep stopping to kiss each other breathless. They manage to get dressed eventually, though, and while Shiro heads downstairs, Lance strolls into his own room to gather his things.

Once he’s certain he has all of his sharp objects, Lance all but prances downstairs too, hoping to flirt with Shiro some more while they wait for the team to wake up.

Unfortunately, when he comes into the tavern, he finds Shiro awkwardly burying his face in the map, his ears bright ass red. 

The rest of the team is already well established at their table, having clearly gotten up and eaten in the time it took Lance and Shiro to stop fucking. They’re all staring between them, badly hiding laughter, and every time Pidge fails to stifle a snicker, Shiro just flushes darker and hides deeper in the map.

Seems the others woke up at dawn after all.

Good thing Lance doesn’t have an ounce of shame to him. He just gives them his widest ‘just-had-sex’ grin and orders himself some breakfast, already feeling good about the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)
> 
> my only regret is that i couldn't fit in shiro rubbing lance's belly in a sunbeam


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a little more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xalyn is the god of the catfolk

Lance had expected his night (and morning) with Shiro to be a one-time thing. 

That was how he’d planned it, after all. No matter how good Shiro might be in bed, no matter how sweet he is, no matter how adorable he is fighting with the blinding dawn sunbeams, sleeping with him was supposed to be a one-time thing. 

And besides, what are the odds Shiro would want to sleep with him more than once, especially once he sees exactly how dirty Lance fights? How grey his morality tends to be? Shiro’s a paladin, for Xalyn’s sake, and paladins are nothing if not righteous and honestly kind of annoying. 

Regardless of how Lance may or may not feel, he had figured that the chance Shiro would want more than what he got was slim to none.

It is not a one-time thing. Not by a long shot.

\--

As usual, when Lance sneaks down the dark hall, it’s late. All the others are asleep, Lance is sure, but when he nudges the door open, he finds Shiro still awake. 

The man is sitting on his bed, leaning close to the dim lamp and frowning deeply at one of his shoulder plates. He’s dressed down like he’d been ready for bed, but he has his pale bangs pinned back out of his eyes, and his tongue is stuck out a little in concentration.

Lance’s heart does not flutter. It doesn’t.

He edges further into the room and closes the door behind himself, making just enough noise to catch Shiro’s attention. Shiro blinks up at him, and when Lance gives him a coy smile and leans back against the door, he smiles right back, placing the piece of his armor on the bedside table. “Good evening.”

“Evening,” Lance replies, doing his best to sound smooth. His smile widens as he pushes off the door, then strides over to crawl right onto the bed. “Wasn’t expecting you to still be up. Isn’t it kinda late?”

Shrugging mildly, Shiro leans back against the headboard, not bothering to be subtle about looking Lance up and down. “I suppose, yes. I was having trouble with something, guess I just lost track of time.”

Lance tilts his head at that, then glances at the plate. Shiro had taken a pretty heavy swing to his right shoulder during a fight earlier, but somehow there had barely been any damage to his armor. Lance remembers being turned on by Shiro’s resilience, then annoyed with himself for being turned on. The man wears _plate armor,_ of course he can take a hit. 

Shiro seems to have mended the long dent left by his opponent’s jagged sword, and remarkably well at that. Lance crawls further across the bed and picks up the piece, sitting back on his heels to investigate it. As he does, he can feel Shiro’s warm eyes on him, but he tries not to be too distracted by that.

“Is there still something wrong with it?” Lance asks, running his thumb over the barely-visible seam where the dent used to be. 

Sighing softly, Shiro nods, holding his hand out. He turns the pauldron over and shows Lance the inside, specifically a pair of buckles. The one at the bottom of the plate seems normal, but the one at the top looks... crumpled, at best, and the leather holding it in place is damaged. There are a few scratches on the metal alongside the fastenings, like whatever tool Shiro had been using just kept slipping. Seems the force of the blow hadn’t just dented Shiro’s pauldron after all. 

“If I can’t fix that, it won’t attach properly to my breastplate,” Shiro explains, idly flicking his thumb over the damaged leather. “My old armor just had straps, so I’m not used to these fastenings yet. Having this thing wiggling around is annoying at best, and dangerous at worst.” 

“Can’t have that,” Lance murmurs, grabbing the pauldron again so he can squint at it.

If Lance is being honest, fixing this buckle is easy. Easier than half the tasks that go into maintaining his own armor. He glances at Shiro’s hands, his thick fingers, and resists the urge to giggle.

Shiro’s issue is most likely that his hands are just too damn big.

“Be right back,” Lance says, before he puts the pauldron down and scurries off of Shiro’s bed. He flits back into his room to grab his armor repair kit, then comes back and picks up the plate again, crossing his legs and putting on his own focusing face. 

“What’re you doing?” Shiro asks curiously, leaning toward Lance. 

He ends up casting a shadow, though, so Lance pushes on his strong shoulder and huffs, “You’re in my light.” 

Shiro snorts, but does as he’s told, watching Lance with his arms folded over his chest. “What happened to catfolk having dark vision?”

Rolling his eyes at that, Lance leans in closer to the armor and grabs a pair of slim pliers. “Dark vision only works in the _dark,_ dummy. Otherwise, we’re about the same.”

Rather than sass him back, Shiro chuckles softly and shakes his head. Lance gets to work, and even though he can still feel Shiro watching, he tries not to let it distract him too badly. 

He manages to bend the buckle back into shape with some time and some muffled cursing, then patches the short leather strap where it looks weakest, giving it a few good yanks after just to make sure. 

“That should hold for now,” he says once he’s done, holding the plate out to Shiro. “But you should get an actual blacksmith to fix it soon. Patching only does so much.”

Shiro blinks down at the buckle, running the pad of his thumb over the scratched metal. He pulls himself up off the bed and walks over to the armor stand in the corner, carefully buckling the pauldron into place. It holds firmly enough when he gives it a good wiggle, and Shiro’s satisfied hum sends something warm and pleased all through Lance.

“Thank you, Lance,” Shiro says, turning back toward the bed with a bright smile. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to know so much about heavy armor.”

“I don’t.” Lance puts his tools away and flops back onto Shiro’s pillow, lazily lacing his fingers behind his head. “But I know my way around a buckle, so I figured it’d be worth a try. Can’t have you losing an arm on me.” 

Lance hears Shiro laugh softly, then start moving toward the bed. He maintains his relaxed posture as he feels the mattress sink under Shiro’s weight, and as the man crawls toward him. It’s only when he feels Shiro leaning right over him that Lance opens one eye, giving Shiro a crooked smile. 

“Seems like I owe you one,” Shiro murmurs, ducking to nudge his nose against Lance’s.

Unable to resist the urge to tease, Lance grins, then says, “Might be a while. I’m not in the business of taking punches.”

Shiro hums warmly at that. “Guess I’ll have to find some other way to repay you, then.”

“Guess so.”

Despite his obvious interest, Shiro sighs quietly, then sits back on his heels and looks over at the bedside lamp. It’s almost out of oil, which means...

“It’s _really_ late, huh,” Shiro says, not bothering to hide his pout. Cute. He shakes his head, though, and turns back to give Lance an apologetic smile. “We should really get some sleep.”

“Oh, uh. Sure.” Lance clears his throat and sits up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

Shiro isn’t exactly kicking him out, not with his tone of voice, nor his proximity. In fact, he almost looks like he wants to ask Lance to stay, and Lance doesn’t think he has it in him to turn that offer down.

They’ve never slept together in the literal sense without thoroughly wearing out the figurative sense first, though. To do so now...

Lance flushes slightly, then scoots past Shiro and off his bed entirely, doing his best to look casual, and also trying not to read into the disappointment that comes over Shiro’s face. He grabs his armor kit from the bed and gives Shiro a lazy salute, and before he ducks out into the hallway, he says, “See you at the ass crack of dawn, big guy.”

The dorky way Shiro laughs at that lingers in Lance’s fluffy ears, even after he’s crawled back into his own bed and pulled the covers over them, and that adorable sound follows him all the way into his dreams.

\--

A few days later, the party comes across a small, unfriendly town crammed into the bend of a harsh river. They may not have hospitality, but they do have rations and a blacksmith, among other useful shops.

Lance is talking to the blacksmith’s apprentice about adjusting the grips on some of his daggers (and maybe trying to swindle her a little) when, further into the shop, he hears Shiro clear his throat awkwardly. Unable to resist the urge to snoop, Lance tilts an ear that direction and catches the hushed end to Shiro’s conversation.

“So you have to replace the whole fastening?”

“Yes,” comes the gruff, no-nonsense blacksmith’s reply.

“Can—can I keep the piece you take out?”

The blacksmith pauses for long enough to make even Lance squirm. “’S just a bit of metal and leather. Ain’t even the whole buckle.”

“I know,” Shiro whispers, and whatever he says next is drowned out by the sounds of the bellows being vented, and by the apprentice having had about enough of Lance’s flirtatious tricks. 

When Lance leaves the shop, the grips on his daggers suitably tightened for a little more than he’d have liked to pay, he does his best to not think about Shiro furtively sliding a short, patched leather strap into a pocket on the inside of his cloak.

\--

It’s a long time before the party finds another inn on their journey. Having freed Hunk’s village, the next point of interest becomes tracking down Pidge’s family heirloom, which Lance may or may not still be considering stealing. Only a little bit. 

The search takes them through some fairly lonely territory. They spend a lot of their nights in caves and long-abandoned shacks, and once in the lofty branches of a massive, ancient tree. Being in such close proximity with the rest of the party makes it hard for Shiro to ‘pay Lance back,’ or any other sort of fooling around, although Lance did manage to suck Shiro off in the tree in the dead of night. Presumably, the terror of falling off their branch had kept Shiro remarkably still and silent, not to mention the embarrassment of potentially being caught. Again.

Being a creature of fantastic grace and composure, Lance hadn’t had that luxury, but Shiro’s hand over his mouth while he held him tight in his lap and stroked him off had served about the same purpose.

\--

Lance would not say that he has a problem with heights. He basically grew up in trees, after all, and he’s made a living out of being able to slip through spaces others wouldn’t even think to look. 

Crouching in the shadows of rafters is a hell of a lot different from this, though. 

The party’s been traversing this winding mountain pass for a few days already, and no matter how far they go, it just keeps going up and up. They’ve climbed high enough that the air grows thin and frost clouds on their cloaks, that even if they wanted to look down, the stormy haze would completely obscure the forest clinging to the root of the mountain. 

“There’s a cave up here!” comes Allura’s voice from further up the path. 

Lance is damn tired of caves at this point, as is everyone else in their party, but it sure beats dying of exposure. 

The other problem with their current altitude, as if the temperature wasn’t enough, is that they’re much closer to the heavens than Lance would really prefer.

They’d all settled in for the night, exhausted to tears and shivering, when the first flash of blinding white floods the cave. 

He should be used to this. It’s been three nights this way.

Every hair in his body stands on end, and he clamps his hands down over his ears, but that can only do so much to muffle the deafening _crack_ of thunder that follows the light. 

Given his occupation, Lance has never found reason to dislike his insanely sensitive hearing, but this trip is sure painting that strength as a terrible weakness. He curls into a tiny ball under his furs with a pained whimper, crushing his ears against his head and thumping his tail against the floor irately. 

It won’t last long; these squalls never do. They crash and bang around some, then they break into pouring, freezing rain, and then after that there’s nothing but the sound of wind for the next couple hours. He just has to make it through the light show.

After a particularly bone-rattling peal, Lance growls low in his chest, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain rocketing through his skull. Under the ringing in his ears, though, he hears shuffling nearby. 

“Lance?”

Against his better judgment, Lance pulls one hand away from his head so he can lift his furs and glower out at Shiro, who looks almost painfully concerned. 

Shiro edges closer, ducking down so he can see into Lance’s cocoon a little better. “Are you okay?”

Lance thrashes his tail again, his frown deepening. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Is it—are you afraid?”

Before Lance can do much more than scoff at that, another electric white flash blinds him, and he whips his hand back over his ear and curls tighter into a ball, hoping against hope that this one won’t be so bad. 

Once the twinkling spots in his vision and the ringing in his aching ears have cleared somewhat, Lance groans raggedly and lifts the furs again, outright sulking at Shiro. “ _No._ I’m not scared.”

Shiro tilts his head at that, then raises his eyebrows in understanding. “You’re in pain.”

“You would be too, trust me,” Lance grumbles.

Humming quietly, Shiro shuffles closer, then reaches under Lance’s furs to rest a soothing hand on his knee. It’s nothing but contact, and contact through cold, damp clothing at that, but Lance still finds himself breathing just a tiny bit easier. 

“Can I come in?” 

Lance peers out at him again. Shiro’s not wearing his armor, thankfully, so Lance gives him a tight nod and uncurls a little. 

Shiro lies flat and shifts under the furs, doing his best not to disrupt the cocoon too much, and once he’s settled on his side beside Lance, he reaches over and tugs him against his chest, those rough hands soothing up and down Lance’s curved spine. 

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Shiro murmurs quietly, his lips pressed against the top of Lance’s head. “I hate to say it, but it’s too bad you’re not afraid. I could help with that, at least.” Lance makes a curious sound, leaning back enough to blink up at Shiro. The man smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “I have an aura that helps with fear. Not so much for pain, though.”

Lance hums thoughtfully, but before he can comment, a rumbling starts up in the distance again.

With another soft whimper, Lance clutches his ears and buries his face in Shiro’s bare chest, slinging one thin leg up over the man’s hip just to cling a little tighter. 

As the thunder crashes through the heavens, echoing around their small cave, Shiro sighs and holds Lance tight, one hand combing soothingly through his hair, scratching just a little behind his ears. 

“Do it anyway,” Lance whispers once the throbbing has dissipated. 

“Hmm?”

“Your—your aura,” he mumbles, hiding further in Shiro’s chest. “I’m not scared, but do it anyway.”

Shiro contemplates that for a moment, then presses a soft, sweet kiss between Lance’s ears and nods.

Lance doesn’t know why he’d expected anything else, but Shiro’s aura starts in his chest, over his heart. A pale, glowing sigil traces its way across his scarred skin, like it’s being painted onto him in starlight, and as Shiro drags his fingers along the nape of Lance’s neck, the sigil pulses subtly. 

The pulses come in time to the steady beating of Shiro’s heart, and even though Lance had been honest about not being afraid, he still feels soothed by it, his exhaustion weighing down his aching bones in a surprisingly pleasant way. The throbbing in his head lessens, as does the tightness of his shoulders, and Lance really has no idea how much of that is the aura, and how much of it is just Shiro.

By the time the thunderstorm dies down into pouring rain, the sound heavy against the rocks outside the cave, Lance is already asleep, one fluffy ear pressed against Shiro’s heartbeat. 

\--

When Lance wakes up the next morning, Shiro’s already up and almost done strapping on his armor. Lance isn’t sure whether he’s grateful or disappointed. 

Either way, when Shiro notices Lance stirring, he turns a genuinely adorable shade of pink and suddenly becomes very interested in the fastenings of one of his bracers. He’s got this little smile lingering around the corners of his lips, though, and for whatever reason, that’s more than enough to fluster Lance. 

“Good morning,” Shiro says, still not looking over at Lance even though he’s clearly addressing him.

Lance flushes too, folding his furs back and mumbling in reply before going about collecting his things. 

While they’re packing up, they continue not looking at each other or at anyone else, and it’s apparently awkward enough to attract the attention of their party members.

“Wow, get a room, you two,” Pidge deadpans around a mouthful of salted meat. 

Lance turns on her and makes an outraged sound, but he can’t really protest more than that, or things will just get more awkward. Instead, he reaches over and snatches her bread, taking a vicious bite of it while maintaining unflinching eye contact.

Shiro, on the other hand, just turns even redder, then blurts, “I’m gonna go scout ahead.”

They all watch him leave, taking a left out of the cave mouth, apparently unconcerned for the fact that that’s the direction they’d come from.

With a fond sigh, Allura stands and slings her pack over her shoulder. “I’ll go with him,” she says before skipping out of the cave to wrangle Shiro back in the right direction.

\-- 

Thankfully, they only have to climb a little ways further before the pass starts heading down again. It’s more than a slight relief; Lance’s thighs have been burning for days, and he’s far from the least physically fit creature here. It also means that they can start putting some distance between them and the clinging thunderstorms that wreath the peaks of the mountains, and Lance is nothing if not grateful for that. 

As they’re navigating the pass, Lance takes up the rear with Hunk, who is even more happy than Lance to have gravity back on his side. 

For most of the morning, Hunk and Lance keep up a friendly banter, as they usually do when the road is uneventful. It keeps them both sane, and it helps to pass the time. Around midday, though, Hunk starts getting spicy, and Lance doesn’t have the good sense to bail on this conversation before it goes too far.

“So,” Hunk says after a brief silence. “Shiro.”

Lance might be flushing. He hopes his tattoos mask it a little. “What about him?”

Hunk grins crookedly. “He’s got it pretty bad for you, man.”

Scoffing quietly, Lance crams his hands in his pockets and grumbles, “Doubt it.”

“What do you mean, ‘doubt it’? He’s always looking out for you. Holy oath or not, you’ve got his attention.”

Lance rolls his eyes and sulks further. “It’s not like that. It’s just physical.”

Hunk is extremely unimpressed, and Lance can tell without even having to look at him. “Even I can tell he’s not the type, Lance. Besides, if it was just physical, I really doubt he’d go so far out of his way for you, or work so hard to be close to you.”

Before Hunk can continue, and before Lance can start getting his hopes up from where he’d crushed them under his boot, Lance shakes his head. “It won’t last. He’ll move on soon. It’s not like I have anything to offer him, anyway.”

Surprisingly, Hunk’s teasing demeanor falls away immediately. “What makes you say that?”

Lance huffs again, pointedly staring at the rocky ground beneath them. “He’s a _paladin,_ Hunk. Vanquisher of evil, warrior of the light, a beacon of faith, whatever. I’m just—me.”

Hunk shakes his head and puts a firm hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Just being you is enough, right? It’s why we all like you. It’s why _he_ likes you.”

Resisting the urge to nudge Hunk’s hand off, Lance shakes his head again. “What even gives you this idea?”

“I’m a healer, man,” Hunk says, once again sounding unimpressed. “It’s literally my job to know what’s happening at all times.”

“I thought your job was _healing._ ” 

Hunk shrugs. “Healing requires awareness. Right now, I’m aware of the fact that every time you’re not looking, Shiro gives you the grossest gooey eyes. I’m telling you, he’s got a huge crush on you.”

Lance isn’t sure how to shoot that idea down. He just keeps looking down the path, and maybe staring at the back of Shiro’s head just a little bit. It’s hard to think about how tender, how sweet Shiro is with him when they’re alone and not think, maybe...

Even though he’d been doing his best to squash his own feelings, to keep a cool head, Hunk’s words light the tiniest spark of hope deep in Lance’s chest. 

\--

The first town they come across once they’ve left the mountain pass is muddy, snowy, and kind of shitty, but the people are nice enough, and best of all, they have an inn. An inn means washing the grime of travel off themselves, sleeping in a real bed, and eating some actual freshly-cooked food, all things they desperately need.

It’s still midday when they come into town, so Pidge and Hunk split off from the party to ask around about Pidge’s family jewel. Allura leaves too, promising to get them some quality sleeping arrangements with the innkeeper.

That leaves Lance and Shiro alone, and they’re both keenly aware of it. 

Before things can get awkward, Lance turns to Shiro with a sheepish grin and says, “I’m gonna look around for that alchemist. Running low on a few things, you know.”

“O-oh, sure,” Shiro says quickly. “I was, um. Need to get my sword sharpened.” Lance smiles and nods, viciously biting his tongue on the several terrible jokes he could make about Shiro’s sword. Seemingly unaware, Shiro continues, “I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

The hopeful look on his face melts Lance’s brain. He’s so fucking cute. Rather than let on how hopeless he’s being, Lance gives him another lazy salute and turns away, heading down the unpaved road. 

Before he gets too far, though, he hears Shiro calling his name and glances back toward him. The man’s face is red again, and it’s probably not because of the cold. Lance turns to face him and raises a questioning eyebrow. Shiro looks around them almost nervously, then grabs Lance’s elbow and pulls him into a tight, crooked alley between two shops.

“Wow, this’ll be fun. I’ve never had a paladin try to mug me before,” Lance jokes, grinning up at Shiro, who just snorts at him. 

“I was—” Shiro starts, before he pauses and licks his lips nervously. “Are you free tonight? After dinner?”

Lance’s heart skips a beat or three. “I mean, I need to bathe pretty bad. You probably do too, no offense.”

Shiro flushes again and nods quickly, and he looks like he wants to take a step back, although the alley really doesn’t give him the room. “Oh, right. You’re right.” He swallows heavily, though, and continues, “How about after?”

The urge to play with Shiro is too damn strong. Lance grins and crosses his arms, tilting his head teasingly. “I thought after that I’d probably do some of that sleeping thing. You familiar?”

To Lance’s simultaneous amusement and dismay, Shiro looks absolutely crestfallen, and this time he purposely shifts himself so he can take a step back. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” he laughs, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Lance already feels a little bad for teasing, so he reaches out and grabs Shiro’s biceps, pulling him right into his personal space. Shiro braces his arms on the wall behind Lance to catch himself, blinking widely at him. With a crooked smile, Lance twines his arms around Shiro’s neck, then murmurs, “I think I could probably free up some time before I turn in for the night. With some persuasion, that is.”

Breathing an almost relieved sigh, Shiro tilts his head and nudges his nose against Lance’s temple. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, maybe,” Lance laughs.

Shiro hums deeply, pressing his body just a little closer to Lance’s. He’s still wearing his armor, so Lance can’t quite feel the warmth of him through the chilly plate, but he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t start beating a little faster anyway. 

Before Lance can say anything else, Shiro is dragging soft, sweet kisses along the fuzzy edge of one of Lance’s ears, and as much as it tickles, all Lance can really do is melt for him. Shiro chuckles quietly and wraps one arm around Lance’s narrow waist, holding him close, before he whispers, “I want to see you under me tonight.”

Lance somehow manages to bite down a whimper, but it takes some doing. He swallows loudly and clings just a little tighter to Shiro, then gives him a short nod, hoping against hope that he doesn’t look as affected as he feels. 

“After dinner. And a bath,” Lance mumbles, idly combing his fingers through Shiro’s short hair. 

“Agreed.” Shiro smiles down at him, his pretty grey eyes almost sparkling with affection. Lance can’t help the way he trembles. Humming again, Shiro ducks down and brushes his lips against Lance’s, and when Lance flattens himself against him and leans up for more, he makes this deep, approving sound that leaves Lance a little weak in the knees.

This man sure hits a lot of Lance’s weaknesses head-on. He kind of wonders if he even had this many before he met Shiro.

They keep the kiss short, mostly in interest of leaving time to actually run their errands before dinner. And maybe also because neither of them really want to fool around in a tiny, muddy alley. 

Shiro pulls away first, but not without nibbling playfully at Lance’s lips, just barely slipping his tongue between them before taking a step back. Lance pouts at him, but he lets him go, slumping back against the wall again. As he’s turning to leave, Shiro reaches over and briefly squeezes one of Lance’s hands in his with a wide, happy smile.

It takes Lance a solid minute after Shiro’s gone to leave the alley. When he does, though, it’s with an enormous, crooked smile of his own and a noticeable pep in his step, mud and snow be damned. 

\--

Over the course of their... whatever this is, Lance has learned a lot of little things about Shiro, and all of them just serve to endear him to Lance.

Shiro is not a morning person. Sometimes he snorts when he laughs. As tall as he is, he’s completely forgotten that occasionally it’s a good idea to look up. He shaves every morning, but only because he’s never successfully cultivated attractive facial hair.

Also, he is absolutely fucking _awful_ at sneaking.

It would make sense if he tried to do any sneaking in his heavy armor, but he somehow manages to suck at it even in his loose sleep clothes. Several times previously, he’d been the one sneaking into Lance’s room, and every single time, Lance had heard his approach from a mile away.

Tonight is no different. Lance has just gotten back to his room after a long, hot bath, still dripping as he dries himself off, already thinking about Shiro. As if summoned, he hears the sound of Shiro’s door across the hall opening, the squeak of the hinges painfully drawn out because the man’s never had reason to slither anywhere. Lance chuckles, but he goes about his routine, tilting an ear toward the hall. 

Before his door’s even open all the way, Lance teases, “Someone’s eager.”

Shiro pauses in the doorway, but that could be either shyness or the way Lance has his back turned, tail curling lazily around his thigh, shamelessly giving Shiro a great view of his ass. He drags his thin towel slowly down one of his arms, absolutely thriving on the way he can practically hear the man turning red. 

The door finally closes again, though, so Lance glances at him over his shoulder, humming at the way Shiro’s clearly checking him out. 

“Can you blame me?” Shiro finally murmurs, crossing the small room and coming to stand right behind him. He rests his warm, broad hands on Lance’s waist, and both of them sigh at the contact. 

Slipping his arms around Lance, Shiro pulls him back against his chest and ducks to press his lips against the curve of Lance’s shoulder. His hair is still soaking wet, though, his loose, snowy bangs dripping cold water down Lance’s bare chest. He squeaks slightly and squirms, turning around in Shiro’s hold so he can give him an exasperated look.

“You didn’t even dry off!”

Shiro blinks at him. “I’m dry. Mostly.”

Lance shakes his head and throws his towel over Shiro’s head, giving him a vicious ruffling. “You’re going to make a mess of my bed like that, you know. And it’s _cold._ ”

“I think there’s going to be a mess on your bed regardless,” Shiro laughs, and the crooked grin he gives Lance from under the towel has him all kinds of weak in the knees. Too damn attractive for his own good. 

“Aren’t you confident,” Lance grumbles, but only to distract Shiro from how flustered he is already. “If you make a mess, I’m taking your bed.”

“With or without me in it?”

Lance snorts softly, covering Shiro’s face with the towel again. “That remains to be seen.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior, then.” Shiro reaches up and pulls the towel off, entirely unconcerned for the way his half-dry hair is sticking up in a thousand different directions. He tosses it back toward the side table carelessly, already pulling Lance close and leaning down to kiss him.

Despite all his teasing, Lance melts easily in Shiro’s arms, parting his lips against Shiro’s and sliding his arms over the man’s shoulders. They kiss slowly, languidly, and for all the eagerness Shiro has shown thus far, he seems nothing if not entirely satisfied just holding Lance close. His hands trail idly along Lance’s spine, tracing the lines of his lanky body appreciatively, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing the base of Lance’s tail. 

That eagerness still intrigues him, though. Shiro had almost rushed to sneak into Lance’s room once they’d bathed, apparently not even checking whether or not the others were asleep yet. It usually takes him longer to come into Lance’s room, every step too careful, too paranoid, but tonight he’d barely even tip-toed as he made his way through the hall. 

Before Shiro can distract him too thoroughly with his slow, deep kisses or his wandering hands, Lance hums, then murmurs, “What’s got you so keyed up?”

Shiro blinks at him, tilting his head curiously. “Am I?”

“I’d say so,” Lance snickers. His digs his hands through Shiro’s still-wet hair just to drive his point home, careful for tangles. “Usually we’re at least dry first.”

Humming idly, Shiro laces his fingers over the small of Lance’s back and presses his lips against his temple. “It’s been a while,” he mumbles finally, shyly burying his face between Lance’s ears. “I haven’t gotten to hold you in weeks.”

“Jeez, and I thought I was dramatic,” Lance laughs, but only to hide the fact that he’s about to fall over. 

“Call me what you want,” Shiro grumbles. “I’ve missed being with you like this. Missed seeing you all tangled up in actual sheets.” He pauses, his grip tightening just slightly before he whispers, “Missed waking up with you in my arms.”

Lance might actually pass out. 

Too charmed to tease him further, Lance fists his hands in Shiro’s hair and pulls him into another deep kiss, this one messier, needier than the last, and barely a beat passes before Shiro melts into him with a rumbling groan. One of Shiro’s hands finds it way down to his ass, squeezing and using his grip to pull Lance more firmly against himself, as if there’s any space left between them at this point. 

Winding his tail affectionately around Shiro’s wrist, Lance hums against him, then turns and steers them back toward the bed. He doesn’t let up when Shiro sits heavily on the thin mattress, instead pushing further until Shiro’s sprawled across the sheets, then climbing into his lap and ducking to catch his lips again. 

For the moment, Shiro lets him take the lead, instead resting his hands low on Lance’s hips and squeezing gently. When Lance shifts his weight, his bare cock brushes against Shiro’s through his pants, both of them already half-hard. 

Nearly every time they do this, Lance is on top in some way or another. He thinks Shiro likes being held down by his slight weight, likes giving himself over to someone smaller, but more insistent than he is. Or maybe it’s the view, or the way Lance gets to move in all the ways he likes best, or all the ways he knows to have Shiro gasping for more. Whatever it is, they both seem to enjoy themselves, and that’s what matters.

Lance hasn’t forgotten what Shiro whispered to him earlier, though.

As much as he likes being over Shiro, now that he has the idea in his head, Lance can’t quite get over how good Shiro would look above him, how good he could make Lance feel. 

Shiro’s apparently on the same page. He groans into their kiss, licking between Lance’s lips and sighing warmly, before he sits up again, taking Lance with him. He wraps his arms around him, then easily flips them over, pressing Lance into the sheets and kneeling between his narrow thighs like it’s nothing at all.

Being manhandled so effortlessly has Lance shivering already, but when Shiro leans down and kisses down Lance’s warm chest, all he can do is arch into the attention. Shiro’s mouth is hot and wet on his skin, each kiss sending sparks all through him, so Lance winds his fingers into Shiro’s messy hair just to cling to him a little. He tugs lightly, earning himself a quiet, rumbling sound that just serves to make Lance hotter.

With a low sigh, Shiro drags his tongue over one of Lance’s nipples, humming contently at the way Lance gasps and rocks his hips up against his stomach. He closes his eyes and gently bites the sensitive flesh, then sucks it between his lips so he can flick his tongue over it, one of his broad hands soothing idly up and down Lance’s ribs. 

The care with which Shiro treats him is familiar to Lance by now, as is Shiro’s penchant for teasing, so Lance does his best to relax for him. He’s so used to getting his way, though, that he can’t help but squirm a little, tugging on Shiro’s hair again. 

Fortunately, Shiro seems a little pent up himself tonight. He glances up at Lance through his eyelashes and drags his tongue over Lance’s nipple again, his dark gaze so heady it has Lance arching slightly, spreading his thighs wider. Obeying Lance’s unspoken plea, Shiro bites him playfully one last time, then mouths down his stomach until he can take the head of Lance’s flushed cock between his lips.

Lance arches harder at that, his head falling back in the sheets as he gasps Shiro’s name for him. He winds his fingers tighter into Shiro’s short hair, more to ground himself than to pull the man around. When Shiro hums around him, licking over the slick head of his cock, then takes him deeper, Lance squeezes his eyes shut and shivers, breathing a soft whine. 

Shiro bobs his head slowly, taking as much of Lance as he can. He works his tongue over him, the quiet sounds wet in the chilly air, but that just makes Lance shake for him even more. He forces his eyes open again so he can blink down at Shiro, groaning at the way he looks right now.

Framed by Lance’s narrow, shaky thighs, eyes closed so he can focus, Shiro sucks Lance deep and groans softly, and it takes everything Lance has to not buck up into the feeling. Shiro’s bangs drag along Lance’s dark skin, brushing against him every time Shiro sucks him down, and as much as it should tickle, right now it just makes Lance writhe. 

“Sh-Shiro,” Lance gasps, tugging on the man’s hair gently, trying to get his attention. He wants those eyes on him again, wants more of those rough hands on him, wants _more._ When Shiro looks up at him, though, Lance loses all of his words, instead rendered speechless by how hot Shiro looks for him. 

Thankfully, Shiro is observant as always. He hums around Lance one last time, then pulls off, unconcerned for how wet he leaves Lance, how wet his lips are. Instead, he wraps his arms under Lance’s thighs and coaxes him into hooking his knees over Shiro’s shoulders, moving back up the bed and easily folding him in half so he can draw him into another deep, bruising kiss. Lance has always had an appreciation for his own flexibility, but Shiro always manages to bring it to another level.

The position has Shiro grinding against Lance so easily, his cock achingly hard in his thin sleep pants and so promising. At this angle, Shiro could fuck him so _deep,_ could hit him so damn well, Lance can’t help but whimper against his lips and squirm a little. 

Shiro pulls back from the kiss and licks his lips, and the way he’s looking at him right now, hazy and wanting, but still so sweet, has heat rushing all through Lance. He slides his hand down to Shiro’s cheek so he can drag his thumb across the man’s wet, flushed lower lip, and when Shiro hums, then teasingly takes the tip of his thumb between his teeth, all Lance can do is gasp for him.

“Y-you—” he tries, his free hand combing shakily through Shiro’s hair. “Take—take your pants off.”

With a wide grin, Shiro flicks the tip of his tongue against Lance’s thumb, but thankfully, he obliges. Still keeping Lance’s knees over his shoulders, he reaches down and shoves his pants down off his hips. He has to lean closer, to bend Lance further to get them the rest of the way off, but doing so has his hard cock rubbing against Lance again, so neither of them are really complaining. 

“Where’s your oil?” Shiro asks quietly, dragging his palms languidly down Lance’s shaking thighs. “You didn’t run out, did you?”

“I ran out like two weeks ago, man, remember?” Lance huffs. “Lucky for you, I bought more in town.”

“I did too,” Shiro says, looking a little sheepish. Lance quirks an amused eyebrow at him, affectionately sliding his thumb across Shiro’s flushed cheek. “Although mine might be a little more awkward to use.”

Lance squints at him, watching the way Shiro practically squirms. “You did buy the right kind, right?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Shiro huffs. “But I may have had to convince the shopkeeper that I’m a cook for a small army.”

Eyes widening, Lance lets his head fall back into the sheets with a loud giggle. “Please tell me you bought a whole fucking skin of cooking oil.”

“I didn’t want to run out!”

“Oh god, Shiro,” Lance says, still shaking with laughter. “You can’t even cook! Do you remember the time you almost started a forest fire trying to boil water? Because I do.”

Shiro grumbles and drops his forehead against Lance’s chest. “You’re a bully.”

Lance doesn’t stop giggling, but he runs his fingers soothingly through Shiro’s hair, his nails scratching gently over the nape of his neck. As much as he wants to make Shiro go get the skin, mostly so he can laugh at him some more, Lance does have some mercy in him. 

“In my pack,” he snickers. Shiro sits up straight, sticking his tongue out at him for good measure, before setting Lance’s legs down again so he can stand. 

While Shiro’s digging the oil out, Lance shifts further onto the bed so they won’t be balanced so precariously. He leans up on his elbows and watches the man stuff his whole arm into Lance’s pack, his tongue poked out in concentration, and lets himself imagine this big, buff paladin blushing and trying to convince a shopkeeper that yes, he does need _that much_ oil. 

It’s such a goddamn adorable mental image. He bets Shiro’s ears flushed too. Lying isn’t exactly a staple in Shiro’s repertoire of skills.

He’s so fucking cute.

Before Lance can think any more about that, or about how extremely fucked he is, Shiro pulls the tin out with a triumphant sound.

“How much of that stuff in there do you even use?” he grumbles as he comes back onto the bed, crawling right between Lance’s thighs like he belongs there. 

“Um, all of it?” Lance flops back onto the bed with a grin. “Not all of us can just cut a bunch of baddies in half and call it a day, Mr. Big Strong Longsword.”

Shiro snorts at him, leaning over to nudge their noses together before whispering, “It’s a broadsword.”

Lance rolls his eyes, putting his hand over Shiro’s face and pushing playfully. “Well, excuse the hell out of me. Maybe I was talking about a different sword, anyway.”

To Lance’s delight, Shiro laughs at that, the dorky kind of laugh he does when he’s a little flustered and a lot happy. Rather than comment further, Lance pulls Shiro down and kisses him eagerly, easily hooking his knees back over those strong shoulders. 

Even though his arousal hadn’t flagged during their banter, Shiro still reaches between them and wraps slick fingers around Lance’s cock, stroking him slow and tight just to coax a few soft sounds out of him. Lance rocks into the feeling, his tail wrapping lazily around one of Shiro’s thighs as he lets himself be entirely distracted. 

As Lance tilts his head back with a low sigh, Shiro drags messy kisses up the column of Lance’s throat, idly swiping the pad of his thumb over the head of Lance’s cock. Both of those feelings have Lance squirming, arching against Shiro and shivering. Shiro hums approvingly, laving his tongue along Lance’s collarbone before sitting up and reaching for the oil again.

There isn’t much room like this, but Shiro makes it work, rather than putting more space between them. He slicks his fingers again, and as Lance takes the oil from him to put safely on the bedside table, Shiro shifts his weight, then reaches down to drag his fingers over Lance’s entrance.

It doesn’t take much to have Lance relaxing for him. He just watches Shiro over him, his hands gripping the sheets, gripping Shiro’s bicep where he can reach. Shiro keeps his eyes on him as he rubs his fingers against him soothingly, then presses the tip of one into him, humming roughly when Lance opens up for him easily. Being watched so closely has long since stopped making Lance even a little nervous. Instead, it lights a fire in him, knowing now how much Shiro likes what he sees, likes making Lance writhe for him. 

Shiro slips his finger deep into Lance and curls it gently, repeating the motion when it makes one of Lance’s ears twitch. He starts thrusting slow and easy when he has the leeway to do so, licking his lips idly, but Lance can’t think too much about that.

Compared to his own, Shiro’s fingers are so thick, so much rougher. If Shiro wanted to, he could lay Lance out and have him delirious with his fingers alone. Sometimes he seems like he wants to, like he knows just how affected Lance is by his touch, but Lance’s pleading always gets to him sooner rather than later. 

Right now, Shiro’s already coaxing a second finger inside of Lance, thrusting and spreading them gently. It’s so _good,_ but it’s not quite enough, not yet. Lance keens and arches up for more, one of his thighs almost slipping off of Shiro’s shoulder. He catches himself before it does, wriggling back into place, but just as he’s doing that, Shiro hums for him, then curls his fingers up firmly, dragging slow, tight circles over Lance’s prostate. 

Lance’s leg falls off Shiro’s shoulder anyway. He arches tight, head falling back, and breathes a hitching, needy sound at the feeling, spreading himself wide and rocking down for more. Shiro always touches him so perfectly, drives him crazier with his fingers than Lance could ever manage with his own. It’s almost unfair. 

Shiro glances between them, rubbing a third finger against him, so Lance pulls his knee back and does his best to give him a good view. 

He can tell he’s on the right track by the way the man stares helplessly, watching as Lance opens up for three of his fingers, eagerly taking them deep. He curls his fingers again, then picks up his pace with them, and all Lance can really do is gasp for him. 

The way Lance pants his name must do something for Shiro, because rather than play with him anymore, he eases his fingers out of him and sloppily spreads the remaining oil over his own aching arousal, his dark gaze flicking back up to Lance’s face. Lance licks his lips and rolls his hips encouragingly, one hand coming to caress Shiro’s flushed cheek. Shiro sighs heavily and nuzzles into the affection, then pulls his hand off himself again. 

He hooks Lance’s knee back over his shoulder, easily folding him in half again and holding him still with his weight. Without looking away from Lance’s face, Shiro reaches between them to steady himself, and as he presses his hips forward, then eases the head of his cock into Lance, both of them groan softly. 

“Is it okay?” Shiro whispers, both of his hands coming to brace his weight in the sheets. “Did I use enough?”

Lance laughs breathlessly, then nods, unable to keep himself from playing with Shiro’s hair more. “F-feels amazing,” he sighs, understatement though it may be. Seemingly encouraged, Shiro licks his lips and works himself deeper in slow, lazy thrusts, his face flushed dark and his eyes hazy with arousal. 

By the time Shiro’s bottomed out, Lance is panting hard, twitching and arching against him. Shiro usually fills him completely, heavy and perfect inside him, but when he’s bent back this far, his knees nearly touching his chest, Shiro’s so fucking _deep_ Lance can barely see straight. He squeezes Shiro’s shoulder urgently, so the man stays still, his lips parted around his own rushed breath. 

“I-is it too much?” Shiro asks, always so damn concerned. Lance can’t quite lie to Shiro like this, though, so he bites his lip, then gives him a tight nod. Shiro makes an apologetic noise and goes to pull back a little, but before he can, Lance reaches down and grips Shiro’s ass, squeaking out a protesting sound.

“J-just—” Lance lets his eyes slide closed, trying to get himself together around the way Shiro’s spreading him open. “Just give me a second, or I’m gonna c-come.”

Shiro blinks widely at him, then groans low in his throat, rocking his hips forward just a tiny bit. He does as Lance asks, though, waiting patiently for him to get used to the angle, to stop squeezing him so tight. 

“Fuck, you’re so _big,_ ” Lance sighs. He’d only said it because it’s true, but the way Shiro moans for him, his head falling forward as his hips shake makes Lance snicker brainlessly. Shiro grumbles at him, then ducks to nip gently at Lance’s nipple, and just like that, Lance is melting for him again. 

Shiro teases him more, using his tongue and his lips to tease sensitive flesh until every touch has Lance twitching and gasping. He squirms under him and arches into the attention, rocking his hips deeper into Shiro’s lap and moaning at the feeling. Shiro’s so hard for him, so heavy inside of him, and even though it’s still overwhelming, Lance reaches up and tugs pleadingly at Shiro’s hair, wordlessly begging for more.

With a ragged groan and one last wet kiss, Shiro leans up on his hands again, making sure Lance’s trembling legs are secure over his shoulders. He murmurs something affectionate, something encouraging as he pulls his hips back, dragging so deliciously inside Lance it already has him breathless. 

He doesn’t pull back far before he pauses, still watching Lance’s face, then thrusts back in, moving slow and easy, always so concerned, so eager to make this good for Lance. He’s still so deep that Lance can barely breathe, but now that he’s moving, Lance just wants more.

Reaching up to grip the sheets above his head, Lance gasps a hot moan of Shiro’s name, doing his best to move into those steady thrusts. He can feel his cock dripping onto his stomach, but he ignores it for now, far more interested in how good Shiro feels inside him. Shiro’s always on the quiet side, but Lance can already hear him making soft, rough sounds, his breath hitching every time Lance takes him deep.

Lance opens his eyes and glances blearily at Shiro, but the man isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s hanging his head and watching between them, so Lance tilts his head and looks too, then squeezes tight around Shiro with a whimper.

In the low light of the room, and with this angle, Lance can perfectly make out the way Shiro’s cock looks every time it sinks into him, spreading him open and grinding deep. He can’t watch for long, not without risking this being over way too soon. Instead, he lets his head fall back again with a breathless whine of Shiro’s name, tightening around him again and earning himself a winded moan. 

“You’re s-so beautiful,” Shiro gasps, his thrusts starting to shake a little. “Looks so good, baby, no idea how pretty you look taking me like this...”

“Oh my _god,_ Shiro,” Lance keens, his hands pulling harder at the sheets. 

Before he can start begging, Shiro hums raggedly, then continues, “Missed this so bad, missed hearing my name on your lips—”

Lance squirms more, his brows knitting as he tries not to just lose it right there. Shiro’s been so fucking good at figuring him out, so good at getting under his skin, making him tremble for him, and every time he uses that knowledge against him, Lance can’t even bring himself to be mad about how deeply this man knows him now.

Thankfully, Shiro has some measure of mercy. Either that, or he could feel how close Lance was getting. He groans roughly, then shrugs Lance’s knees off his shoulders and into the crooks of his elbows so he can lean in close and press hot, wet kisses to Lance’s exposed throat. 

This angle doesn’t have Lance bent back so far, but it lets him spread his thighs wide, hips still tilted just right, so he’s not complaining. He can still take Shiro deep this way, too, and he has more room to move his hips, so he rocks sinuously into every thrust, his hips leaving the bed entirely in favor of grinding into Shiro’s lap, still supported by Shiro’s arms.

Breathing a loud, desperate moan against Lance’s throat, Shiro thrusts harder into him, but he lets him control the pace with his hips. Lance keeps it slow, because moving so languidly together like this feels so good, so _right_ that all he can do is gasp. 

The way he’s squeezing around Shiro seems to be getting to him, though, leaving him panting hot against Lance’s pulse and trembling. Shiro lets out a cute, stuttering moan, then grinds his cock deep, earning himself a hitched whine. He guides Lance back down onto the sheets, then clumsily pulls Lance’s legs around his hips, leaving his hands free again.

Lance doesn’t have as much control this way, but when he sees how needy, how desperate Shiro looks above him, he can’t bring himself to complain. He just wraps his thighs tight around him, tugging him deep and squeezing around him with a soft moan. Shiro murmurs soft praise to him, then leans down and catches Lance’s lips again, kissing him almost deliriously. He fucks his tongue into Lance’s mouth, eagerly drinking in his shaky, breathless sounds, still barely rocking his hips. 

When Lance arches against him again, Shiro slides an arm under his lower back, all but clinging to him, moaning into their kiss. With their bodies pressed tight together, he starts thrusting again, his cock dragging so perfectly inside Lance that all he can do is whimper against Shiro’s lips. The angle has the thick head of Shiro’s cock sliding all along his sweet spot with every deep thrust, every movement sending a flurry of sparks all through him.

Seemingly at the end of his rope, Shiro leans his forehead against Lance’s and starts moving harder, rocking into him more insistently, groaning at the little sounds Lance breathes for him. Lance does his best not to squirm too much, his vision blurring with how _good_ Shiro feels, how nicely he’s treating him. He slides his tail around Shiro’s thigh again, gently flicking the tip along his hip, over his ass, and the ragged sound Shiro makes at that is almost enough to send him over.

As he’s picking up the pace, rocking Lance’s body against the sheets with his needy thrusts, Shiro sighs Lance’s name, then drags his free hand up his side, restlessly petting him. Lance bucks into the feeling, his nails dragging pink lines down Shiro’s sweat-slick shoulders, his lips parted around shaky, pleasured sounds. 

Lance crosses his ankles over Shiro’s lower back and rocks up into him, his head falling back again. “ _Shiro,_ c-c’mon—”

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Shiro gasps, nodding vacantly. He ducks to mouth along Lance’s collarbone again, the arm under Lance cradling him tight against his chest as his thrusts start to lose their rhythm, as his cock starts twitching more and more inside him. 

Shiro fucks into him harder, moaning almost deliriously against his skin, and the way he tilts Lance’s hips up to fill him deeper has Lance seeing stars, his head thrown back, arching hard and tensing. He can feel his orgasm building fast, a desperate need coiling tight between his hips, urging louder and louder sounds out of him, each of which Shiro answers with a rough, encouraging hum.

Just as he’s dancing along the edge, tightening hard around Shiro’s cock so he can feel every thick inch of him, Shiro nuzzles Lance’s cheek brainlessly and gasps, “Come for me, baby, c’mon, wanna see you—fuck, Lance, I-I—”

As good as Lance’s hearing is, whatever Shiro says next is drowned out by the rush of blood to his head as he finally falls. 

He’s making way too much noise, but he can’t control it, not with the way Shiro’s whining and pounding into him, so desperate, so perfect in the way he’s holding Lance tight and fucking him through his overwhelming orgasm. If anything, his cries just spur Shiro on, because before Lance is even close to coming down, Shiro is gasping Lance’s name and snapping his hips into him unevenly, his movements slick and messy as they come together. 

Lance arches tight under Shiro, his nails still digging into the man’s shoulders, stars dancing all across his vision. Shiro finally buries himself deep with a trembling whimper, his forehead resting against Lance’s flushed cheek, both of them panting for air as they come down. 

It takes Lance some time to get his wits about him again. He spends the time deliriously petting the back of Shiro’s head, wrapping himself around him lazily and keeping him close, unconcerned for how messy, how sweaty they are. 

After a while, Shiro leans up on his elbows over Lance, his dark eyes searching his face. Lance gives him a crooked smile and presses Shiro’s bangs out of his face, and when he pulls Shiro in for another kiss, the man leans into him easily, kissing him so sweetly, so tenderly it has Lance’s heart fluttering wildly. 

Shiro leans up again once he’s kissed Lance thoroughly brainless, dragging his thumb down one of Lance’s tattoos. “S-sorry,” he mumbles finally, his brow furrowed. 

Lance raises his eyebrows at him. Shiro shifts like he wants to pull away, so Lance just wraps his legs tighter around him. “Sorry for what?”

There’s a beat of silence, barely a second but awkward enough that Lance starts feeling nervous.

“For what I said,” Shiro finally answers, squinting thoughtfully at him. “I, um. I wasn’t thinking.”

The nervous feeling grows. Lance blinks widely at him, trying to think of anything Shiro might have said that was out of the ordinary. “Do... do you mean the ‘baby’ thing?” Shiro sucks on his lips, hesitating for a moment longer before he nods just a little too firmly, averting his gaze. Lance drags his hands through Shiro’s hair, drawing his attention again. “I liked it. You can—you can do it again, if you want.”

Shiro gives him a fleeting, crooked smile, then brushes a quick kiss against the tip of Lance’s nose before sitting up. 

Whatever was going on, it seems to pass quickly enough. Lance keeps his eyes on Shiro as he pulls out, then rolls out of bed, moving to get them cleaned up as usual. He stretches out across the sheets in Shiro’s absence, and as always, Shiro gives him a warm smile when he turns back around with the wet cloth. 

Nothing seems out of the ordinary as Shiro wipes them down, mumbling something about needing another bath. Lance can’t help but feel nervous, though, and he can’t put his finger on why. 

When Shiro joins Lance on the bed properly, pulling the blankets over them and snuggling close, Lance lets himself succumb to his nerves, pulling Shiro down for another deep, lazy kiss in search of reassurance. Shiro hums into him, wrapping his arms around Lance happily and letting his hands wander. 

Despite his lingering anxiety, Lance finds himself melting into Shiro, sighing contently as the man pets his back, his tail, scratches behind his ears. Shiro smiles for him, laughing at the way Lance butts his head into his affection.

The hand not stroking Lance’s ears finds its way to his ass before too long, squeezing playfully and tugging Lance closer. Shiro chuckles at the way Lance wiggles his hips, then slips two of his fingers under his tail, the pads of his fingers slowly sliding down further until Lance reaches back and grabs his wrist, giving him a teasingly critical look.

“What, didn’t get enough?” he huffs, and the crooked grin Shiro gives him already has him melting again.

“I’m young and you’re cute, what can I say,” Shiro snickers in response, licking his lips subtly. 

Lance rolls his eyes at that, but neither of them really have anything they need to do tomorrow, so he slides one of his thighs over Shiro’s hip and edges himself into his lap again, leaning in for another deep, languid kiss, and when both of Shiro’s hands find his ass again, all Lance can do is purr for him.

\--

A few rounds later, they finally give it a rest, but only because Lance is pretty sure his leg’s about to fall off.

They kick off the blanket that had been thoroughly debauched and replace it with Lance’s camp furs, and when they curl up in each other’s arms, Shiro falls asleep almost instantly. Poor, worn-out paladin.

It takes Lance a little longer to fall asleep, mostly because he can’t stop thinking about what Shiro had said, the way he’d apologized for something he’s never bothered apologizing for before. Sure, ‘baby’ is a new pet name, but it’s not _that_ far from other affectionate things Shiro calls him in bed.

Lance finally falls asleep with no clues, and it’s only the warmth of Shiro’s strong arms around him that keeps him from sleeping fitfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)
> 
> i have no regrets, keep an eye out for the third and final part


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a quest goes very wrong, and Lance tries to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh oops

When Lance stirs awake, it’s not because of aggressive sunbeams, nor another tenant’s obnoxious alarm spell. In fact, as far as he can tell, there’s nothing at all that should have woken him. 

Like always, even though Lance had fallen asleep cradled in Shiro’s arms, he wakes up as the big spoon. He sighs and nuzzles into the back of Shiro’s head, melting against the man’s warm back. Shiro doesn’t stir, but that’s not unusual. It seems like there isn’t much in the world aside from sunlight that can reach Shiro when he’s solidly asleep.

Well, sunlight and one other thing.

Lance glances over his shoulder at the window behind them. The clouds outside are dark, hazy grey, almost untouched by dawn, and he can make out little flurries of snowflakes whirling around the weak, guttering streetlamp down the road. Still early, then, even for them.

Seeing as he’s awake now, Lance figures he might as well make some trouble. 

He licks his lips and leans up to check on Shiro, who is still firmly passed out. The bed shifting under him is just enough to put a tiny, confused furrow between his brows, which is a good enough start as any.

With a short hum, Lance peels his arm from around Shiro’s waist, then rolls away to the far side of the bed.

As expected, Shiro groans at the loss of heat, then reaches behind himself. He pats around the still-warm bed, and when he doesn’t find Lance, he rolls onto his back with a perturbed whuff. Lance grins and leans a little further away from him, dragging his tail playfully up Shiro’s bare thigh under the sheets, just to let him know he’s still there.

With another groan, Shiro keeps rolling over, and before he can land on his face again, Lance wedges himself back against his chest, rocking his ass back into the man’s lap. Shiro hums contently, then gathers Lance close and buries his face in his hair, his heavy body relaxing once more.

Now that he’s got Shiro where he wants him, Lance lets himself enjoy being held again, just for a few moments. Just because it’s cold. After all, it _is_ snowing. 

Before he can get too comfortable, Lance licks his lips and starts rolling his hips back more firmly, arching his body lazily and purring. Shiro inhales deeply, and even though he’s still very much asleep, he wraps his arms tighter around Lance and pushes his own hips forward, already more than half-hard. 

Honestly, Lance kind of loves how easy Shiro is when he’s this sleepy. He also loves how clumsy, how clingy the man is in the mornings, how he’s usually too out of it to even try to hide how much he wants Lance. 

He’s teased Shiro about it before, and every time, the man just flushes and mumbles something about his body being too honest for its own good. 

By the time Shiro’s hard, his hot length rubbing against Lance’s ass, brushing the base of his tail, he seems to be getting his wits about him. As always, Lance relaxes against him, behaving himself and waiting for Shiro to tell him no. Shiro just sighs slowly and drags his palm down Lance’s warm belly, wrapping his fingers around his cock and squeezing. 

“Morning,” Shiro rumbles, his voice low and rough in all the ways that have Lance shivering. 

“‘Morning’ yourself,” Lance says, reaching up and tangling his fingers in Shiro’s short, messy hair. 

For lack of a witty reply, Shiro just hums and nudges his nose against one of Lance’s fuzzy ears. He starts moving his hand, though, stroking Lance loosely, with no real rhythm. Lance arches against him again and purrs happily, then starts wiggling. He moves subtly enough that Shiro doesn’t seem to catch on to what he’s doing, not until Lance lifts one of his knees slightly, then rocks his hips back, and the position lets Shiro’s cock slide right between his warm thighs. 

When Lance presses his thighs together around him, Shiro breathes a ragged, broken sound and shivers, curling around him. Duly encouraged, Lance licks his lips again, shifting his thighs teasingly. The way Shiro rocks his hips forward in search of friction just inspires him further. 

Given the number of times Lance had Shiro inside him last night, he’s willing to bet he’s still wet and open for him, and honestly, that sounds like a fantastic way to spend a chilly winter morning. 

He squirms just enough to reach over to the nightstand, where his tin of oil is still open and waiting. Unfortunately, the oil’s cold as hell, so Lance takes a good few minutes to warm his slick fingers some. He wants Shiro inside him, sure, but he thinks neither of them would really appreciate ice cold oil this early in the morning. In the meantime, Shiro keeps idly rolling his hips against Lance and dragging bitey little kisses along the nape of his neck, still holding him safely.

When Lance lifts his thigh again, Shiro groans morosely, already missing the lazy friction. Lance’s fingers wrapping around him, so warm and slick with oil, seems to change his mind, based on the low, content sound he breathes. 

Once he’s haphazardly slicked Shiro’s cock, Lance angles him up, tongue poked out in concentration. On the first try, he slips slightly, but once Lance adjusts his grip and his hips, he manages to push back enough that the head of Shiro’s cock slips right into him, still smooth and easy from last night.

Lance rocks his hips back onto Shiro with a low, happy moan, absolutely thriving on the way Shiro clings to him and gasps, his own hips bucking forward eagerly. He seats himself easily and huffs Lance’s name for him, nuzzling brainlessly into the crook of his neck. 

With as sleepy as Shiro is, and how cold it is, Lance had honestly been expecting to do all the work, and he’d be fine with that. He’s happy to have Shiro inside him like this, filling him so nicely and hitting him just right, even with the lazy position. As always, though, Shiro is more than happy to surprise him.

Shiro gently sinks his teeth into Lance’s shoulder, then slides one arm down between Lance’s thighs, easily hiking one up off the bed and leaving Lance spread open for him. The shift interrupts the languid rhythm Lance had going, but before he can adjust and get his leverage back, Shiro pulls his hips back, almost all the way out, then thrusts deep again, earning himself a wavering, ragged moan from Lance. 

As the man keeps his slow, steady pace, Lance leans his head back and whines, then arches against him when Shiro leans up enough to drag hot, wet kisses along his neck. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Shiro’s hair again, rocking back encouragingly and panting for him. 

“Can’t believe how amazing you feel,” Shiro sighs against him, shifting again so he can nuzzle Lance’s flushed cheek. “All those times you took me last night, still so tight...”

Lance’s eyes roll shut at the praise, and he can’t help the way he squeezes tight around Shiro, earning himself another rough, pleased sound. The hand under his thigh pets him soothingly, those rough fingers dragging along Lance’s inner thigh slowly, almost maddeningly. Lance shivers and spreads himself wider, twisting just enough that he can catch Shiro’s lips with his. 

Shiro sighs and kisses him deeply, adjusting them so he can keep fucking Lance just right, keeping the angle that has him breathless while he kisses Lance’s pleasured sounds right off his lips. 

It’s almost too much for Lance this early. Shiro feels so _good_ inside him, so thick and heavy, but he’s still kissing him so tenderly it has his head spinning. He’s being treated so gently, so lovingly, and he’s tempted to think that it’s a strange sensation, but honestly, it’s not.

With Shiro, it’s always like this. No matter how hard they go, how filthy they get, Shiro’s always right there with him, taking in his vulnerability and offering up his own in equal measure, treating him like he’s beautiful, like he’s something to be cherished, and Lance can’t decide if it makes him nervous or if he desperately wants more. 

In an effort to get out of his own head, Lance curls his tongue between Shiro’s lips and arches his back, rocking harder into his lazy thrusts. He curls his tail between them, draping it over Shiro’s waist and flicking it against his skin. Before Lance even has time to think about it, Shiro adjusts them so there’s no risk to Lance’s sensitive tail, no risk of bending it awkwardly or causing him any pain, even though it puts a tiny bit of space between them. He’s still kissing him, though, leaning up on his elbow so Lance can lie more comfortably, so he can fuck him better. 

Shiro picks up his pace slightly, groaning into their kiss and hoisting Lance’s knee into the bend of his elbow. With his hand free, he keeps petting Lance’s inner thigh, carefully traveling higher and higher until he can drag the rough pads of his fingers over Lance’s stretched entrance with a stuttering, ragged sound. 

Lance leans his head back onto Shiro’s shoulder with a hitched whine at the feeling, his hands clawing at the sheets. That touch is so intimate, so appreciative that it sends a hot thrill all through Lance, leaving him gasping and trembling. 

“Take me so perfectly,” Shiro whispers to him, nuzzling against the base of one of Lance’s ears, gentle as always with the delicate skin. He shifts his hand up and, with some wiggling, wraps his fingers around Lance’s aching arousal. Lance hadn’t even realized it, but he’s _dripping_ for Shiro, and the deep, pleased hum the man breathes when his fingers slip through Lance’s precome has him bucking back against him and whimpering his name. 

“Mm, look at you,” Shiro continues roughly, his breath hot against Lance’s ear, his own breath hitching with every languid thrust. “Love the way I get to you, Lance...” Lance shivers at that, squeezing his eyes shut. Shiro sighs softly, then bucks his hips, grinding his cock deep and teasing, purposely dragging that solid weight all along Lance’s sweet spot. “Can you feel how much you affect me?”

“ _Fuck,_ Shiro,” Lance gasps, spreading his thighs wide and tightening around him, hoping for more. Shiro’s so intense this morning, so much more than he would be normally, and he wonders if it’s just because they’d gone without this for so long before last night. 

“Love the—the sounds you make,” Shiro manages, his voice shaking. He swallows heavily, then starts moving harder, busying his mouth by dragging hot, wet kisses along Lance’s throat again. 

The way Shiro’s moving now, keeping his thrusts short and deep, hitting Lance _so_ nicely, his hand keeping time as he strokes him off, Lance knows he can’t possibly last long. He lets Shiro distract him thoroughly, lips parted around stuttering, desperate little sounds, his body trembling for more. Shiro picks up on how close he is, either by how wet he is or by the way he feels around him, and breathes an encouraging groan against the turn of his jaw. He slides his free arm under Lance and tugs him close again, adjusting his grip so he can fuck Lance deeper, hit that perfect angle harder.

With a hitching moan, Lance arches and snaps his hips, leaning his head back as far as he can as Shiro takes him higher. By now, the man knows so well how he ticks, how to drive him crazy, and he certainly knows how to make good use of that information. 

When Lance tips over, Shiro cradles him lovingly and fucks him through his orgasm, stroking him so perfectly and groaning for him. Lance shivers against him and whines, gasping Shiro’s name as he spills hot into his hand, rocking back and squeezing hard around him. He reaches down between his thighs and grips Shiro’s wrist, holding him still so he can thrust the sensitive head of his cock through the tight, wet ring of Shiro’s fingers, his eyes rolling shut at how _good_ it feels. 

Shiro breathes a hot moan against him, leaning up just so he can watch Lance come, so he can murmur, “That’s right, baby, just—just like that, pretty boy...” 

Once Lance has peaked out, melting and shaking against Shiro, the man lets go of his cock, then hoists Lance’s thigh high again. Rather than pick up his pace, though, Shiro hums against Lance’s cheek, then pulls out of him, chuckling at the breathless complaint Lance lets out.

Shiro sits up and rolls Lance onto his back, kneeling between his trembling legs. He looks so gorgeous over Lance, hot and flushed, cock still achingly hard and slick with oil, and even though Lance literally just came, he already wants Shiro inside him again. 

He wriggles and spreads his thighs, offering himself up to the man and licking his lips, and whatever face he’s making must get to Shiro pretty bad, based on the sound he rumbles out. 

Instead of sliding back inside him, though, Shiro hooks his hands under Lance’s knees, then coaxes him into pressing them together again. He hesitates a moment, glancing at Lance almost sheepishly, before steeling himself and sliding his cock between Lance’s soft thighs with a shaky moan. Lance gives him a wide, crooked grin and squeezes, earning himself a breathless groan of his name. 

“Should’ve known you’d like this,” Lance whispers, reaching up to idly drag his palms along Shiro’s forearms.

“Didn’t know I did until this morning,” Shiro responds gruffly. He wraps his arms around Lance’s knees and pulls him closer, leaning his cheek against his leg and closing his eyes as he starts moving his hips slowly. “You’re so—so soft...”

Lance purrs for him, lazily watching the way Shiro’s cock looks poking between his thighs, slick and dripping. He murmurs something soft and encouraging, entranced by the way the man hums raggedly and licks his lips, before reaching down and rubbing his knuckle along what he can see of the slick underside of Shiro’s cock, toying gently with his soft foreskin. Shiro bends over him further with an adorable little whine, thrusting just a little harder against him.

When Shiro comes, it’s with a low, muffled groan, and it’s only because of Lance’s naturally quick reflexes that he manages to not get it right in his eye. 

With a squeak, he twitches to the side just as Shiro’s come splatters on the pillow beside his head, and even though Shiro’s still arching against his thighs, his breath heavy and uneven, he’s somehow managing to laugh, too.

God, he’s so cute.

Once Shiro’s tapped out, still shaking with laughter, he lets Lance’s thighs fall open again and leans over him on his hands, glancing over the mess he’d made with a pleased groan.

“S-sorry,” he finally manages. “Didn’t—didn’t think it’d go that far.”

“Far from the worst thing that’s almost taken my eye out,” Lance snickers, gesturing loosely at the light scar that crosses his eye. Shiro shakes his head with a snort, then leans down and kisses Lance so sweetly it has him melting again. 

Before they can really get into the canoodling, there’s a sharp knock on the door, followed by Hunk calling, “Hey, Lance, you up?”

Lance wheezes and looks around for something to wipe himself off with, while Shiro rolls off the bed with a hard _thud,_ desperately reaching for their towel. 

“Uh, yup,” Lance calls back. He curses under his breath, then gives up and just uses the sheet.

“Have you seen Shiro? He’s not in his room.”

Lance turns and raises his eyebrows at Shiro, who had apparently decided against exposing himself to grab the towel and is staring widely at him over the edge of the bed. “Umm, no?”

There’s an awkward silence before Hunk mumbles, “Oh, for—” He sighs loudly enough to be heard even through the door. “Okay, well, light a fire under it. We have a lead on the jewel, and Pidge is chomping at the bit to get going.”

“We’ll— _I’ll_ be right down!” 

Once Hunk has walked away, Lance flops back down onto the bed with a groan, throwing an arm across his eyes. He can’t help but laugh, though, still a little giddy from before, and before long he hears Shiro chuckling too. 

When he glances over at him, Lance finds Shiro still kneeling beside the bed, his arms crossed on the edge and a wide, crooked smile on his face. He’s looking right at Lance with that warm expression, too, and for whatever reason, it makes Lance’s heart do a few good flips in his chest. He smiles back at him, raising a teasing eyebrow and reaching over to lazily drag his knuckles down Shiro’s cheek.

Shiro leans into the touch, his face somehow even more tender. Lance rolls toward him and pulls him into a lazy kiss, sighing at the warmth of those soft lips against his. When he pulls away again, Shiro is _still_ staring at him, all sweet and affectionate, so Lance mumbles, “What?”

“Hmm?”

“What’re you giving me that look for?” 

Humming quietly, Shiro shakes his head and leans over to press his lips against Lance’s forehead. “Nothing, nothing.” He stands then, turning away from the bed and looking around for wherever his pants had ended up. 

While Lance is making a disorganized pile of the bedding they’d ruined, then checking to make sure he’s cleaned off himself well enough, Shiro locates his pants and pulls them on. Lance tries to be subtle about grooming his ears and his mussed hair, but he’s pretty sure Shiro catches him, based on the amused chuckle he gives him. Lance just sticks his tongue out at him, then turns toward his pack, his tail swishing haughtily. 

Shiro comes up right behind him again, resting his hands on Lance’s waist, but rather than start trouble, he ducks down and brushes another light kiss against one of Lance’s tattoos. “See you downstairs,” he rumbles, and with that, he slips out into the hall.

Lance blinks over at the door behind him, then once he hears the man messing with his armor in his own room, reaches up and rubs his fingers over his warm cheek, as if hoping to find some lingering trace of that tiny kiss.

He catches himself and flushes dark, yanking his hand away from his face, then moves to get himself dressed.

\--

“Yeah, I _really_ don’t like this,” Lance grumbles under his breath, checking over his shoulder for the millionth time, searching for movement in the pressing gloom.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Pidge says between grit teeth. “A _thousand times._ ”

“That’s because it’s true!” Lance flicks his ears irritably and turns to face forward again, squinting against the relatively blinding torchlight. 

Lance isn’t lying. He really, really doesn’t like this. 

Pidge’s hot tip led them to a dank, smelly cave entrance tucked into the base of a round, suspicious-looking hill. It was one hill among many of the same type rising from a shallow, misty swamp, and Lance doesn’t know a whole lot about ancient burial rites, but he’s pretty sure he knows a graveyard when he smells one.

It’s not that he’s not used to deep, dark dungeons. He’s been in plenty. He’s a _thief,_ for fuck’s sake, whether he tries to downplay the title or not. Unsavory locations are pretty much his playgrounds.

He does _not_ like this.

The air is chilled and damp, even more so in here than it had been outside, and to his sensitive nose it reeks of old rust and wood rot. Their breath fogs before them, turning to little clouds of frost before dissipating into the shadows. The deeper down they go, the worse it gets, and the soft, icy flicker of wisps peeking at them from between cracks and under stray roots honestly doesn’t help. 

“Seriously, I have a really awful feeling about this—”

Pidge turns on her heel and stomps right up to him, and even though she’s a good foot shorter than he is, Lance’s tail still stands up straight, his fur standing all on end. “Lance, this is the best tip I’ve gotten in months. You think I wanna be down here? You really think I can’t smell that too?” Lance’s ears fold back against his head, his gaze falling shamefully to the dirt between them. “I’m a _dwarf,_ Lance. I was born in the earth, I grew up in the earth, and if I’m lucky I’ll die there too. I know this place smells wrong.”

Lance wants to say something, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out but mist, so he just gapes at her for a moment. Before he can come up with anything, she sighs and shakes her head. “I can’t ask you to do this for me. You don’t owe me anything. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Blinking widely at her, Lance feels his trepidation turn to hurt, then to honest anger.

“You really think that little of me?”

She looks up at him again, but he’s folding his arms across his chest and scowling down at her. “What—”

“You really think this is about _me_? You think I’m asking for your permission to bail? You’re not my fucking keeper, Pidge. If I wanted to leave, none of you would notice until I was long gone, and none of you would ever see me again.” Lance does his best not to look at Shiro or Hunk, but he can still sense the hurt on their faces. He means that as a testament to his skill, not as a dig at his self-worth or his relationships with any of them, but he probably could have picked his words more carefully. Shaking it off, he continues, “I’m pitching a fit because I don’t want _any_ of us to die down here.”

Pidge stares at him, clearly taken aback. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lance sighs and relaxes slightly. “I understand that you were just giving me an out. I do. But come on, man, give me a _little_ credit.”

After a moment, Pidge licks her lips thoughtfully, then mumbles, “Sorry. I just... really don’t like this place.”

“Yeah, me either, Pigeon.” Lance reaches out and wraps an arm around Pidge, dragging her in for a cold, clammy hug. She squawks, but thankfully, she returns the gesture, looping one heavily armored arm around his waist and squeezing gently enough that only a few of his bones creak. 

Before things can get awkward, Pidge peels herself away from him and moves back to Allura’s side at the head of the party, reaching up to take the torch from her. She marches forward, following the sodden path leading them deeper and deeper underground.

Everyone falls into place behind her, but this time, Shiro takes up the rear with Lance. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t scold him or prod him about what he’d said, choosing instead to just be close to him.

Lance looks up at him out of the corner of his eye. Shiro looks nervous too, but that makes sense. Paladins don’t really take well to the whole undeath thing, and if this place stinks of anything, it’s something that’s long overstayed its welcome. In an effort to soothe himself and Shiro both, Lance crosses his arms and mumbles, “Surprised you didn’t step in.”

“Hmm?”

Lance shrugs idly. “You always have something to say when the shouting starts. Figured you just like defusing situations.” 

Shiro sighs quietly, then rests his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “That wasn’t my fight to intervene in. I know you can stand up for yourself.” He pauses awkwardly, then clears his throat and pulls his hand away again. 

Frowning up at him, Lance reaches over and catches Shiro’s hand in his. “What’s that face?”

With a wry smile, Shiro squeezes Lance’s fingers gently, and even though Lance knows he’d unintentionally hurt Shiro’s feelings, what he says still kind of breaks his heart.

“I would notice.” Lance stares at him, once again at a loss for words. Mistaking Lance’s silence as confusion, Shiro clarifies, “If you left. I would notice.” He gives him a wider, somehow even sadder smile. “I just... don’t want you to go thinking no one would miss you.”

All Lance can really do is nod vaguely. His heart is fluttering, and he’s sure he can feel Shiro’s hurt mirrored in his own chest. Before he can apologize or try to crack a bad joke, though, something flickers past his sensitive ear, and ice cold dread sinks through him like a stone, crushing out any room he might have for any other emotion.

He drops Shiro’s hand and bolts to the front of the group, using his damp cloak to extinguish the torch with a near-silent crackle. The tunnel around them instantly falls pitch black, darker even than the spaces between stars, and before Hunk can yelp in surprise, Lance reaches out and puts his hand over his mouth. “ _Shh,_ ” he hisses, doing his best to be somewhat reassuring, even though he’s shaking with fear himself.

Allura speaks up first, but thankfully, she keeps her voice low. “Lance, what—”

_“Listen.”_

Everyone stops then, holding their breath, and they listen hard for what Lance’s heightened senses had almost missed.

Whispering.

As Lance’s eyes adjust to the dark, he glances over at Pidge, praying that maybe the whispers are in a language she understands. She looks about as clueless and anxious as he feels, though, and when both of them look back at Allura, she just shakes her head. Fantastic. 

Hunk reaches up and pulls Lance’s hand off his mouth. “What is that? Is that Drow?”

“Drow speak Elvish,” Allura whispers. “I don’t—”

“That,” Shiro interrupts, his voice a low, resentful growl, “is Abyssal.”

Lance feels his stomach drop. Possibly right into the ground.

“This is so far out of our pay grade,” he mumbles, looking down at Pidge again. Hunk moves closer to him, clinging to his cloak, and Lance makes no move to shift away from him. 

Pidge grimaces, staring further down the tunnel and digging her teeth into her lip. Before she can make a decision, or before Lance can try again to convince her to go back, Shiro steps forward. “Whatever it is, we can’t leave it here.”

“Oh, what,” Hunk hisses, turning vaguely in Shiro’s direction. “Because of our holy duty to smite evil? What if it’s not hurting anyone?”

Shiro doesn’t grace that with a response, but Allura shakes her head again and rests a hand on Hunk’s shoulder, earning herself a startled squeak. “We don’t know what it is or what it’s doing. We can’t just leave it without at least checking it out.”

Hunk turns and fumbles around until he finds Allura’s shoulders, then gives her a gentle rattle. “Can we just _look_? We can come back with more people! Or better yet, call it a day here and never ever come back at all.”

“Good idea, Hunk,” Lance cuts in, patting Hunk on the shoulder. “Let’s just assume it’s horrible and go find some other people to help us.”

Surprisingly, it’s Pidge that interrupts them. 

“I need to look.” They turn to look at her, at her stubborn, anxious frown. “I need to make sure the jewel isn’t down there. I don’t care how dangerous it is.”

“Okay, well,” Hunk blurts, clinging tighter to Allura. “You three might be fine in the dark, but there are two humans in the party, and I’m pretty sure Shiro’s as blind as I am right now.” Shiro grumbles at that, but it’s not like he can refute it. Human eyes are notoriously awful. 

“We can’t light the torch again,” Allura murmurs. 

Hunk whimpers, so she gives him a consoling pat on the shoulder, but they all know she’s right. Whatever’s down there, they can’t let it know they’re coming any more than they already have, especially if they expect to get out of here in one piece.

With no light to guide them but the faint, ghostly flicker of the wisps, the party moves forward. Hunk clings to Lance’s cloak again, and when Lance reaches a hand back, he finds Shiro’s frozen breastplate close behind. They creep the rest of the way down the circling path as if walking on shattered glass, too aware of every tiny sound they make. 

Before long, the blueish haze grows brighter, wisps appearing more boldly and in groups. They blink and swirl curiously around them, and Lance sincerely hopes they’re not sentient enough to act as alarms. 

The chamber at the end of the tunnel is bathed in the same ghastly glow, but now bright enough to illuminate the frozen walls even for human eyes. The whispers are louder now, too, slithering through the shadows from inside the room. There’s no door that they can see, nor a gate, so they flatten themselves against the wall and hold their breath as they inch closer.

Pidge had elbowed her way to the front, unsurprisingly, so she’s the first to hit the edge of the wall. She holds her fist up to halt the party, then after a long, shaky breath, she ducks down and peers around the corner.

Lance doesn’t know what he’s hoping for, honestly. At best, just a whole pile of wisps.

When Pidge leans back against the wall again, her expression is downright _furious,_ gnawing on her lip to hold back tears. 

“It’s—it’s there,” she breathes. “Gods, what happened to it...”

Rather than try to crawl over Pidge to see, Lance digs into his deep pockets until he finds his small, worn mirror. Despite the chill, it warms quickly beneath his fingers, its heat soothing and familiar. He leans over just enough to hold the mirror out, letting him see into the room. 

The first thing he sees is the wisps. There’s hundreds of them, maybe thousands, congregated together and swirling slowly, hypnotically around the ceiling in a way that could only mean bad news. 

He watches their pale reflections flicker and dance, then aims the mirror down some, and when he finds wide, glowing eyes staring straight at him in the glassy surface, his breath catches in his chest, and he nearly drops it.

Lance inhales shakily, his fingers tightening around the mirror. It pulses warmly, seeking to reassure him, promising not to reveal him or his friends.

Shaking his head, he holds it out again, trusting its judgment. He angles it around slowly, checking out the rest of the room just to give himself an excuse not to meet that hollow gaze again. 

As he’d suspected, they appear to have stumbled upon a burial chamber. It’s hardly fancy; whatever this guy was entombed with had rotted with age long before any of them had even drawn their first breath. Anything metal has dulled and rusted over, and that sweet stink of long-decayed wood and sodden earth seeps from inside like a dense fog. 

With nothing else left to see, Lance holds his breath, then aims the mirror back toward the middle of the room, toward the source of the whispering.

He does his best not to jolt when he meets those eyes again. They’re sunken deep into a blighted skull, unnaturally wide, vacant, glowing sickly white through the dim light. He knows the mirror’s enchantment conceals it, and it would burn hot if he was in danger of being discovered, but he can’t help but feel a terrible anxiety as he looks over the thing slumped in a decrepit wooden chair in the center of the chamber.

Man, what ever happened to covering dead bodies? Or at least binding their eyes shut.

Whatever this creature used to be, it’s enormous, taller by at least half than any man, but unnaturally thin. Its gangly arms end in what could conceivably be hands if they weren’t charred black, skeletal, with fucking _wicked_ sharp claws for fingers, lying lifelessly in the thing’s lap. It’s wearing some kind of metal armor, but it’s in terrible shape, dented and broken in places, ill fitting on the creature’s withered form.

In the center of its chest, lying in what looks a crater seared straight through its breastplate, is a huge jewel, cut like a teardrop and pulsing with a horrid purple glow.

Lance hears movement behind him and tenses hard, but he recognizes Shiro’s low, rough hum, and the weight of his hand on his shoulder. He moves his head aside so Shiro can see in the mirror, and with one ear tilted toward the man, he can hear his breath catch.

Somehow, before Shiro even opens his mouth, Lance knows they’re not leaving this place without a fight. 

From behind Shiro, Hunk whispers, “Tell me I’m not looking at what I think I’m looking at.”

“Barrow-wight,” Shiro confirms grimly, and even as quiet as he is, his voice is still shaking with contempt. Hunk whimpers feebly.

Lance withdraws his mirror and slides it safely back into his pocket, slumping back against the wall beside Pidge. “Super,” he wheezes, for lack of anything more helpful to say.

The only things Lance has ever heard about wights of any sort come from fearful fairy tails, or from heavily intoxicated adventuring stories traded in musky taverns. Nothing he’s ever had cause to actually believe, and certainly not anything consistent or helpful. All he knows about these things for sure is that they’re very undead, and _very_ dangerous. 

He sighs and turns to Shiro, giving him a pleading look. “You got any experience with these?”

Shiro sucks on his lips, then shakes his head slowly. “I only studied them at the monastery,” he breathes. “They’re not very common.”

Hunk squirms behind them, his hand tight on Lance’s bicep. “Maybe—maybe it’s not alive right now?” He edges closer, staring hopefully at Shiro. “I mean, maybe its eyelids just fell off, and it’s—I don’t know, sleeping or hibernating or something.”

Allura turns to glance at him, then at Shiro. “Do undead hibernate?”

The look on Shiro’s face kind of settles that debate before it can get anyone’s hopes up.

Lance wants so damn badly to suggest that they come back with more experience and more bodies, but one look at Pidge’s still-furious expression kind of erases that hope altogether. He sighs, then looks up at Shiro again, hating how the sickly wisp light washes out his handsome features. 

“I’ll go first,” Shiro says, going to stand as if it’s decided. 

With a wheeze, Lance yanks him back down by his belt, wincing when the man’s heavy armor clanks together. “The hell you will, what the fuck are they teaching you in paladin school?”

Shiro stares at him, but he gets his bearings again quickly. “How to _fight undead,_ among other things,” he hisses, giving Lance a surprisingly stern frown. 

Sensing that he’s overstepped, Lance holds his hands up apologetically, and thankfully, Shiro backs down too with a low sigh. He reaches through the shadows and rests his hand on Lance’s knee, rubbing his thumb against him soothingly, a silent apology of his own. 

“I’m going first,” Shiro whispers again, his tone firm. “Because I’m the only one with a shield.”

“Oh,” Lance mumbles. “Right.” He licks his lips, and when Shiro moves to stand again, he doesn’t stop him. 

Allura stands quickly, reaching out and grabbing one of Shiro’s hands tightly. He blinks at her, resting his other hand soothingly over hers, and she gives him a wobbly smile, then breathes, “Be careful, Shiro.”

He nods, squeezing her hand again, then lets go so he can pull his shield off his back. For being a fairly enormous slab of metal, he manages to slide it onto his arm almost silently, and Lance can’t help but be impressed, especially since he knows exactly how bad Shiro is at being stealthy. Apparently, when it really counts, he does just fine. 

Shiro unsheathes his sword with equal care, adjusting his grip on the long handle, and with a deep, steadying breath, he steps away from the wall and stands in the wide entryway to the burial chamber.

All at once, the whispers stop.

They’d been a low, constant undercurrent, so much that Lance had almost thought he could tune them out, but when they stop, Lance finds himself reeling. The abrupt silence is horribly disorienting, and even the ringing in his ears can’t quite compensate. 

He pulls himself to his feet, trying not to wobble. Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge all seem unnerved, but relatively unaffected by the sudden quiet. Allura, on the other hand, looks paler than Lance has ever seen her. Seems he’s not the only one with superhuman hearing. He reaches down and helps her to her feet, sharing a miserable look with her before turning and offering his hand to Hunk. 

When Shiro edges into the room, the others follow, every step carefully calculated and deafening in the dense silence. The creature on the chair doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. 

Even so, Lance can’t help but feel like its hollow gaze is following them, and he’s not sure he’s ever hated a sensation more. 

From beside him, Pidge motions at herself, then at the jewel, miming pulling it out. Shiro, watching out of the corner of his eye, makes a sour face, but he can’t do it himself without putting down either his sword or his shield, so he nods tightly. He shifts forward and turns, holding out the shield in front of Pidge, doing his best to block as much of her as he can. From the back of the room, Lance hears the mute sound of Allura nocking an arrow and drawing it back.

Pidge exhales shakily, then moves forward, her hands trembling as she and Shiro edge closer to the chair. She reaches out around the shield, over the creature’s lap.

Her fingers are barely a hair away from the pulsing jewel when the damp air around them shifts, then freezes.

Without hesitation, Shiro shouts and shoves Pidge back, standing between her and the creature with his shield held strong. There’s a sickening _crunch,_ then the deep groan of metal and the sound of crackling ice. 

When Lance’s heart stops spasming, he stares at Shiro, and over his shoulder, he can see pale wisp light twinkling through the holes the wight just ripped straight through Shiro’s shield with its claws.

The wight makes this horrible clicking noise then, a rough sound echoing from deep within its desiccated chest, before it wrenches its hand free. It stands from its seat, its movements jittery and unnatural, then reaches down beside the chair. 

Lance curses himself for missing it. There’s a fucking massive sword leaned against the chair, long and terribly weathered, and Lance really, _really_ does not want to find out what that blade would feel like biting into his flesh. 

He tries to call out for Shiro, to call for a retreat, but before he can find his voice, the wight starts its terrible whispers again, the sound raspy and grating from this close. It’s a hideous language spoken in a hideous voice, a racket in his sensitive ears awful enough to turn his stomach, to have every hair on his body on end.

Before any of them can move, and with a speed none of them could have anticipated, the wight heaves its sword at Shiro.

Somehow, Shiro manages to block the blow, but the force of it nearly buckles his knees. The new gashes in his shield don’t help. His shield bends under the weight of the sword like it’s no more than a child’s plaything, and Shiro groans at the strain of it. He calls for his light, though, and manages to push the wight back with a shout, a hazy blue glow surrounding his crumpled shield. 

As the wight reels, hissing in that awful tongue and shielding its face from the light, the rest of the party breaks free of their shock.

Allura looses her arrow and hits the wight square in the teeth. The bone crumbles and gives way easily, but it seems having an arrow lodged in its mouth doesn’t bother the wight. It just creaks and cracks and chitters, its horrid gaze set on her.

Being undead, the wight doesn’t need to draw breath, so there’s no warning.

It _shrieks._

The sound is gutting, a piercing banshee wail that knocks Lance straight to his knees, his hands pressed hard over his ears while the world spins out from under him. The shrill ringing in his ears eclipses everything around him, the pain in his skull blinding anything else that might get through, aside from the feeling of something wet leaking from his left ear and onto his palm. 

The hearing in that ear goes muffled, and he feels something hot dripping from his nose, down his chin too, but he can’t really focus on that when he feels like he’s actually fucking dying.

Even when the sound stops, Lance can’t get himself together. He’s shaking and weak, panting for air and finding none. 

He sees a pair of familiar boots in his peripheral vision and wheezes, trying to tell Hunk to run, to get help, to save himself, but there’s nothing in his lungs but ice. 

Hunk kneels beside him, resting a shaking hand on his head, and then Lance loses his hearing altogether.

He’d panic if he had it in him.

As it is, whatever spell Hunk cast on him muffles his hearing, dulls his senses, and the violent ringing dulls down to humming static. He still has a beastly headache, but he can think just a little clearer, and the dizziness and nausea start to wane. 

When he looks up, he sees Shiro still doing his best to shield the group from the wight. The holy light he’d wrapped his shield in is flickering, though, and pale frost is creeping in sinister tendrils all along his armor. Lance drags himself to his feet, helped along by Hunk, who immediately casts a protection spell in front of Shiro to give him a moment to recover, to find his bearings again. 

Lance looks behind himself at Allura, who looks like about as much shit as he feels. There’s a black, shimmery haze around her pointy ears, Hunk’s clever use of a deafening spell, and one of her eyes is badly bloodshot. She’s standing, though, and wiping a truly unsettling amount of blood off her face. He imagines he’s not faring much better.

She grits her teeth and nocks another arrow, fiery vengeance shining in her eyes, so Lance turns forward again and focuses. 

The wight clacks what remains of its teeth at Shiro, unperturbed by the protruding shaft of Allura’s arrow. It heaves its sword at him again, a clumsy, horrible overhead swing almost too fast to see, and finds itself violently rebuked by Hunk’s shielding spell. 

The spell is cracking, though. All they did was buy time.

If anyone is throwing ideas around, Lance can’t hear them. Hunk had deafened him too, and while it’s certainly for the better, Lance hates not having his best sense on his side. He shakes his head, ignoring the thick weight of his blood swinging off his chin, and unsheathes his long, thin daggers. 

While Pidge moves to Shiro’s side, and Hunk readies his staff, Lance curses under his breath. Poison doesn’t do shit to undead, and poison is a good chunk of what Lance does best. He tries not to lose himself to the feeling of helplessness looming over him.

Shiro is bracing himself and calling out to Hunk, who is pale and shaky, but standing firm beside him. Hunk nods, then raises his hands high in the air and shouts something Lance can’t make out.

A blinding white light builds in Hunk’s hands, then erupts from his staff, and Lance just barely manages to cover his eyes.

Even through the deafening spell, Lance can distantly hear the way the wight screams, and as much as it curdles his blood, it also fills him with a sick satisfaction.

Lance looks up when the light fades, watching the wight stumble back, its clawed fingers scrabbling over its ugly face. It had dropped its sword, so Pidge jumps forward to kick it to the side of the room, far away from its grasp. Even unarmed, though, the wight is still dangerous, if the jagged holes in Shiro’s shield are anything to go by.

Once the shadows fall in the chamber again, Lance exhales slowly and closes his eyes. 

These shadows are unfriendly, unstable and constantly shifting because of the agitated wisps clouding the high ceiling, but Lance doesn’t leave himself room to doubt. He takes another deep, centering breath, then fades into the shadows, and after some resistance, they welcome him in.

He blinks back into existence above and behind the reeling wight, and he uses his weight and the force of his fall to drive both of his daggers to the hilt into the back of the creature’s neck, vanishing again before he hits the ground. He comes back crouched where he’d started, gesturing apologetically at a bewildered Shiro. 

The wight digs its claws deep into the nape of its neck, ripping dusty furrows through its own dried skin to get the daggers out. It throws them to the ground and slouches heavily, its hollow, glowing stare falling on Shiro.

Before it can start shrieking again, Shiro bolts forward and bashes it right in the face with his shield, sending it stumbling once more to give Pidge an opening.

Pidge swings her axe high, then brings it down hard and removes one of the wight’s arms entirely.

It doesn’t seem all that bothered.

With another shrill wail, it flails its remaining arm at them, knocking Shiro and Pidge both on their asses. Pidge skids across the floor until she crashes into a small, moldering side table. The impact destroys it easily, stirring up a heavy cloud of dust. Shiro hits the ground hard enough to knock his circlet off his head, thin silver bouncing away into shadow. 

Before the wight can stomp forward and kick them while they’re down, Allura plugs another two rapid arrows into its face, and Lance takes the opportunity to dive onto the ground and retrieve one of his daggers, which he uses to slash at the thing’s skeletal ankle.

Its hard leather boot, badly decayed as it is, gives way like nothing. The wight’s ankle buckles, and it topples against the side of the chair, holding itself up with its one arm and _seething._

Just as Shiro’s rolling to his feet, and as Pidge is grabbing her axe again, the wight stands up and, with another howl, swings its claws wildly.

The muffled squeal of torn metal sends chills all through Lance.

Shiro stumbles, his face deathly pale and sweaty, his hand coming to cover the new slashes rent through the side of his breastplate.

Blood drips from the spaces between his fingers.

Lance thinks he screams Shiro’s name, but he can’t hear himself, nor anyone else.

Shiro grits his teeth and stands again, turning to face the wight and moving to hold his shield up again, but before he can position himself right, the wight lurches forward and smashes its bony skull against Shiro’s face.

The shield clatters to the ground, and just before Shiro’s knees join it, the wight wraps its filthy claws around Shiro’s neck and _squeezes_. 

They watch in horror as the wight’s jaw drops, mouth open far, far too wide, and as its eyes glow brighter, the sickly light from the jewel seeps up through its throat and slithers out of its mouth. As if beckoned, something glimmering warm and golden rises from Shiro like smoke, curling through the frigid air to meet those hazy purple tendrils.

Without even having to tell his body to do so, Lance is moving, scrabbling across the floor and reaching for Shiro’s heavy sword, its razor edge twinkling in that awful ghostlight. 

Pidge, already on the same page, heaves her axe again and severs the wight’s remaining arm, and before the thing can even recoil, Lance is throwing all of his weight, all of his boiling, fulminating rage into the one swing he’s going to get.

The silvered blade slices through the wight’s throat like butter.

Lance lets the sword’s momentum carry through, the heft of it throwing him on the ground. He whips his head around and watches the wight’s headless body stumble, the stumps of its arms waving aimlessly, but before it can even fall, a flurry of flaming arrows pierce its chest, its gut, its thighs, and if it still had its head, Lance thinks it would be shrieking.

All it can do, though, is twist and writhe as the flames devour it, its dried out, long-dead corpse withering into dust on the cold earthen floor. 

Allura sends more than a good few flaming arrows into its head too, just to be sure.

Lance scrambles across the floor to where the wight had dropped Shiro, rolling him onto his back and trying his best not to sob. 

Shiro’s face is bloody and bruised, his eyes closed, his body unmoving. What’s worse, whatever the wight did to him sucked all the warmth, all the life out of his skin, his lips, even draining the color from the rest of his hair.

Blood is still oozing lazily from the wounds on Shiro’s side, though, so Lance turns and shouts for Hunk, who skids to his knees beside him and slams his hands against Shiro’s breastplate, his lips already moving around some spell Lance doesn’t recognize. He turns and wipes the blood from Shiro’s blanched face, mutely whispering his name as he runs his fingers through snowy hair, leaving behind dull, bloody streaks.

“Lance! Hey, _Lance!”_ Lance blinks up at Pidge, then winces as his hearing comes back to him, sensation rushing in as the deafening spell fades. “We have to get him out of here,” she continues, her own face white as a sheet.

“Y-yeah,” Lance mumbles, looking around helplessly. 

Hunk finishes whatever he’s doing, sweating from exertion despite the chill, and pulls his hands back. “He’s stable, but Pidge is right,” he says, his voice trembling. 

They both look at Lance, and when he blinks up at Allura and finds her wearing same terrified, pleading expression, he feels his own fear wither under the weight of their expectant faces.

“Okay, okay,” he says, half to himself. “Hunk, can you levitate him? Otherwise you or Allura are gonna have to carry him.”

“I-I—no, yeah, I got that,” Hunk blurts, turning back to Shiro and putting his hands on him again. 

As he draws Shiro’s limp body into the air, Allura turns and dashes out into the tunnel, likely using her speed to move ahead of them so she can get help. Pidge shakily pulls herself to her feet, and as Hunk stands and guides Shiro out the doorway, Pidge moves ahead of them to keep them from running into anything.

Lance looks around the now-empty room. The shadows have calmed, no longer distressed by the presence of the undead, and knowing he has them back on his side is almost enough to soothe his racing heart. 

He dives forward and grabs his daggers, sheathing them before he reaches for Shiro’s heavy sword and shield. The shield is pretty fucked, but who knows, Shiro might want it anyway when he wakes up.

When, not if. When.

Lance shakes his head firmly, forcing himself to focus. Just before he turns to follow the party, something twinkles in his periphery, catching his eye again.

From beneath the pile of ashes, something glows purple and sinister.

Hoping against hope this thing’s not as horribly cursed as it looks and smells and probably is, Lance crams it into his pocket, then folds himself into the shadows to catch up to his team.

\--

Once they’ve made it to Shiro’s room, it takes approximately four minutes for Lance to start getting on Hunk’s nerves.

“Lance, buddy, I really need you to let me work,” Hunk says, his brow furrowed, doing his best to ignore the way Lance is fretting loudly on the other side of the bed. 

Lance wheezes his protest, but he bites his lip and tries to keep still. He watches Hunk dip his fingers into some sweet-smelling alchemical salve he had whipped up, using it to draw curved, messy sigils down Shiro’s bare, bruised chest. Unable to help himself, Lance blurts, “What are those? What do they mean?”

“I could explain it to you,” Hunk manages, his temper starting to rise. “Or I could focus on _doing it.”_

Obviously, Lance wants Hunk to be able to focus, but it’s so hard to not ask a million questions when he has nothing else to look at but Shiro, unconscious and barely breathing, pale as death. He wrings his hands, unconcerned for the way one of his wrists gives an awkward twinge. Some injury or another left over from the fight, and so far from something Lance wants to concern himself with. 

From where she’s cleaning the wounds on Shiro’s side, Allura smiles kindly at Lance and rests a hand on his elbow, then makes a soothing sound when he jumps a mile in the air. “We’re doing everything we can, Lance,” she murmurs. Despite himself, the cadence of her smooth voice has him relaxing just a bit, even with her eye still being pretty bloodshot. “We’re his friends too, remember? Hunk and I will do everything in our power to take care of him, but we need time.”

Lance nods, then gives her a wobbly, miserable expression, his ears flat against his head. She winces in sympathy, standing to fold Lance into a warm, gentle hug. He buries his face in her shoulder and shivers, letting himself cling to her.

If there’s a few wet spots on her vest when he pulls away, Lance doesn’t know anything about them, nor about the matching streaks running down his tattooed cheeks.

With a badly-hidden sniffle, Lance turns back to Hunk and asks, “I-is there anything I can get you? Do you need anything?”

“Other than some peace and quiet?” Hunk sighs, giving Lance a brief, apologetic look. “Sorry. Just, uh. Can you run to the apothecary and see if they carry crystals? I’m kinda running low.”

“Right, crystals, sure.” Lance jumps to pull his coat on, then turns back to Hunk. “Any specific kind?”

Hunk starts to shake his head, but pauses, then stands and pulls a small, cloudy white crystal out of one of his many pockets. “Show them this, they’ll know what I need.”

“Sure, sure.” Lance glances back at Shiro one last time, his stomach sinking terribly at how small, how battered Shiro looks in the weak wintery daylight.

As he’s striding through the hallway, turning the lumpy crystal over in his fingers, he walks past Pidge’s room just in time to hear her shout something in Dwarven that would make the most disreputable metal scrappers stagger. He squawks, then steps back and pokes his head into her room, finding her seething in front of her pack.

“Hey,” he says carefully, not really wanting to sneak up on her. “Pretty sure you just got yourself banned from every dwarven court in existence, what’s wrong?”

Pidge grits her teeth, her hands fisting tight at her sides. What’s more alarming than that, or even her foul language, is the fact that even from the doorway, he can see the tears in her eyes. “I— _shit,_ I can’t believe this.”

Lance steps into the room, but for his own safety, he stays out of her arm’s reach, which still leaves him pretty close. “Talk to me, bud.”

“I forgot it,” she spits, her brow furrowing deeply. She scrubs the heels of her hands against her eyes just as the tears start spilling over. “I was—I was scared, and Shiro was hurt, and I—”

Despite how upset she is, Lance’s ears perk up. “The jewel?”

_“Yes.”_

Lance crosses his arms and smiles at her. She doesn’t need to know he’d forgotten about it entirely too, before they’d even gotten Shiro to his room. “Good thing you have a world-class thief in your corner, huh?”

Pidge blinks up at him, her eyes rimmed red and still irritated. 

Rather than draw out his bragging, Lance forages around in his pockets for a moment, digging through all his various tools and keepsakes until he finds something smooth, hard, and colder than ice.

As he pulls the gem out, Pidge’s eyes widen, and she slaps it out of his hand before he can even give it a flourish. “Hey!”

“Are you _braindead?”_ She bolts past the jewel and grabs Lance’s hand, staring down at his fingers as if expecting them to start rotting. “We found that lodged in a barrow-wight, and you’re just touching it with your bare hands? Are you out of your mind?”

“Aw, good to know you care, Pigeon,” Lance laughs. “Look, I touched it already, and I’ve been carrying it around all night. If it was cursed, I’m pretty sure we’d know by now.”

Pidge grumbles at him, but she lets go of his hand. She gives the jewel a heavy side-eye, then steps forward and slings her arms around Lance’s waist, giving him a squeeze that coaxes more than a few pops out of his spine. 

“Thank you,” she mumbles from where her face is buried in his chest.

Lance wheezes at her, then rests a hand on her head, ruffling her hair affectionately. 

When she steps back, she clears her throat awkwardly, then jabs a finger into his chest. “ _I’m_ still not touching that damn thing,” she blurts. “Not until it’s been cleared by every artificer in the kingdom.”

“Fair enough,” he snorts. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, then turns to go, eager to get on with his assigned task.

“Hey, Lance?”

He glances back at her over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

Pidge chews on her lip, giving him a hesitant look. When she speaks, her voice is soft, certainly softer than he’s ever heard it.

“He’s gonna be okay. Hunk’s a good healer, and that thing didn’t have its claws on him long.”

Lance swallows heavily, then offers her a weak, watery smile. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, and even though he knows firsthand that Hunk is clever, and more than a little skilled, he can’t help the fear lurking deep in his chest.

She lets him go after that, and even though Hunk hadn’t seemed to need the crystals urgently, Lance still makes his way to the apothecary like he’s being chased.

\--

“You sent me to get _salt?!”_

Hunk yelps, raising his arms to shield himself against the rain of small white crystals Lance is hurling at him. “Hey!”

“Shiro’s—Shiro’s like _this,_ and you sent me to get you fucking salt!”

“Lance, chill!” Hunk catches the last chunk of salt, slapping it down on the bedside table. “We’re running out, and you needed to go outside and cool your head. Obviously you still do.”

Even though he’d been the one to start the fight, Lance wilts guiltily, twisting his hands in the hem of his coat. Hunk sighs, then shakes his head and gets back to work, gently placing his broad hands back on Shiro’s chest. 

Allura ties off the section of stitches she’d been working on, then reaches up and rests a hand on Lance’s arm. “Why don’t you try to get some rest?” She holds her hands up when he gives her an absolutely appalled look, but stands firm. “I know, I know. But please, just try?”

Lance sniffles, then looks down at Shiro. The gashes along his ribs are almost done being stitched closed, thanks to Allura’s steady, clever hands, and Lance could swear Shiro’s blending in with the sheets just a little less. He wants so badly to stay, to try and help, but neither Hunk nor Allura really need anything he has to offer. Besides, the best medical advice he has on hand is ‘try slapping mud on it,’ and he kind of doubts mud will help much with a wight’s life drain. 

There’s a knock on the doorframe behind him, and when he turns, Pidge is giving him a crooked smile. “Wanna come get a drink with me?”

His ears flatten slightly, but Lance knows an out when he sees one. He nods morosely and, with one more look at Shiro, follows Pidge into the hall and downstairs. 

\--

Lance’s profound exhaustion doesn’t kick in until a while later. Despite all his screaming anxiety, when he stumbles up to his room with a hot meal and a pint in his stomach, he falls flat on his face on the bed and straight up passes out.

When he dreams, he dreams of Shiro.

It starts out restless and disconnected, Shiro’s laughs and his smiles blinking out of the fog for just a moment before sinking into inky blackness again. His warm chest, his aura glowing, holy magic draped around Lance like fine silks.

His rough hands covertly fiddling with a short, patched leather strap inside his cloak when he’s thinking about something, when he thinks no one’s looking.

His strength, his bravery, his willingness to throw himself to the wolves if it’ll save someone he cares about.

Lance whimpers in his sleep, curling into a little ball and jostling his dreams around like dried leaves.

When they settle, they’re warmer, darker, quieter. Shiro’s laughing again, but this time it’s rough and soft, the kind of tender he never hesitates to show Lance when they’re alone.

The feeling is so vivid, so real, Lance can’t help but sink into its familiar comfort. He can feel Shiro’s smiling lips on the curve of his shoulder, his stubble rasping along his skin, those broad hands dragging down his skin and leaving soothing heat in their wake. He can feel Shiro pressing him onto his back and kneeling over him, his voice low, aroused, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin. 

His brain flickers in and out of smoky memories, of Shiro inside of him, under him, gasping against his lips and sighing his name so pretty. 

It eventually settles on what it wants. When Shiro had come right to his room the other night, had taken him in his arms like he’d been starving without Lance’s skin against his, desperate to show him affection and receive it in turn.

When he’d whispered breathless praise against Lance’s throat, against his lips, so far out of his mind with pleasure that he’d given up on his restraint entirely.

_‘—Fuck, Lance, I-I—’_

When he’d painted a needy kiss onto Lance’s cheek in shaky breath and gasped something Lance hadn’t caught.

He arches into the hazy feeling with a stuttering moan, his hips writhing into Shiro’s, craving his warmth, his closeness, his...

The dream comes into sharp focus for just a second, and even though his eyes had been squeezed shut in ecstasy in that moment, he can see Shiro above him clearly. Not as he had been then, but now, every part of him pale as death, tears falling in chilled drops on Lance’s face. 

_‘—I love you, Lance—’_

Lance jolts awake and rolls right off the bed with a heavy thud.

He supposes he’s in pain, sore and aching from the stress, from the fight, from landing on his ass, but he can’t think about that right now. It’s secondary, everything is secondary as he stares at the ceiling and struggles to breathe.

It’s just a dream, right? Just a dream. 

And yet, some part of him had heard Shiro, had caught his mute confession under the ringing in his ears, under the rush of his orgasm. And Shiro had _lied_ afterward, fearfully kept those words to himself in a badly hidden secret, barely contained under a sad smile. 

But it’s just a dream.

Shiro’s actions haven’t been a dream, though. His long, tender gazes, his reverent touch, the sweet, longing way he kisses him even when they’re not having sex. If the words are a dream, then Shiro’s actions are the fuel for it, because now that Lance is paying fucking attention for once, he can see that every part of Shiro has been begging for his affection for weeks, drinking it in like water every chance he could get.

Even if the words are a dream, they’re true in Lance’s heart, in his mind, thundering in his chest like beating drums and leaving no room for doubt.

Fuck.

He loves Shiro.

Lance digs the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes, trying and failing to crush down the tears rushing to the surface.

Behind his eyelids, he sees that face again, white and terrified, icy tears frosting his long eyelashes, and all Lance can do is curl back into a little ball and sob.

\--

Impatient though he is to do something about this revelation, Lance knows he should wait. At least until Shiro wakes up, or maybe even until he’s recovered enough to move around. He should wait, because Shiro almost died and he’s probably gonna feel like roadkill for a while, so the last thing he’ll need is a sudden avalanche of complicated feelings.

He doesn’t even make it to dawn.

There’s snow piled high on his frosty window, so he can’t really see outside, but he knows it’s still far, far too early. Even so, unable to wait any longer, he rips his door open and storms across the hall to Shiro’s room, then stands over the unconscious man with tears running down his face, his hands clenched in shaking fists.

He’d come in here to be angry, to be upset, with Shiro or himself or them both, but looking at him now, Lance just... doesn’t have it in him.

Seeing Shiro lying on his back is surprisingly unnerving. He never sleeps like this, but here he is, eyes closed, thick blanket pulled up over his bare chest, looking more fragile than Lance could have ever imagined. Shiro’s breathing slowly but steadily, at least, so Lance slumps into Allura’s empty chair beside the bed, dragging his tired hands down his face and trying to sort himself out.

He wants to beat himself up for not noticing how Shiro felt before now, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest. Some part of him definitely did notice, even before Hunk brought it up in the mountains. He’s been thriving on Shiro’s attention for _months._ Maybe he was being hard-headed, like his mama always scolded him for. 

Maybe he just thought it was too good to be true, too much to hope that someone as sweet, as genuine as Shiro might have a place in his big heart for a scrawny, fuzzy little rogue. 

Whatever it was that kept him from facing Shiro’s feelings, whatever it was that made Shiro hesitate, then cover up what he’d said that night, it doesn’t matter much now. It’s something to apologize for later, at most.

Right now, he just needs Shiro to come back.

Lance reaches out and grips Shiro’s limp hand, breathing a wet, relieved sigh when he finds it warm. He folds the man’s hand in both of his, biting his lip, then laces their fingers loosely before leaning down to rest his forehead against their knuckles. 

“Please... _please_ don’t die, Shiro,” he whispers finally, his leg bouncing agitatedly.

The voice that responds is low and cracked, rough from disuse. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Lance bolts upright with a squawk, flailing slightly and staring at Shiro, who’s already wearing a tiny, pained smile before he even opens his eyes. What an asshole. Lance is of a strong mind to tell him so, too.

When Shiro blinks one tired eye at him, though, Lance breaks down entirely, tears rushing down his face again before he can even try to resist them. Shiro breathes a soothing sound, reaching his weak, shaky hand toward him. Lance grabs it again and holds it tight, bringing Shiro’s knuckles to his lips with a wavering sigh.

“Y-you’re awake,” Lance manages after a moment, his voice thick with tears.

“Seems so.” Shiro shifts like he wants to roll toward Lance, then apparently thinks better of it, squeezing his eyes shut with a harsh exhale. “Okay, this sucks.”

Lance sits up straight, his thumbs rubbing over Shiro’s hand. “Should—should I get Hunk? Does it hurt?”

“Feels fantastic,” Shiro wheezes, offering Lance a feeble smile. “It’s okay. Get him later. I’m not done looking at you.”

“Shiro, I look like shit.”

Shiro purses his lips in place of shrugging. “I probably do too.”

“Yeah, well...” Lance gives him a crooked smile, then presses his lips against Shiro’s knuckles again. “Guess we can look like shit together.”

“Perfect.” 

Shiro chuckles at Lance’s wet laugh, then hums and tugs on his hands, trying to pull him closer. Lance raises his eyebrows, shuffling his elbows further onto the bed, but when Shiro makes a displeased sound and tugs again, Lance sits up and quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“If I come up there with you, you’re gonna be real unhappy.”

“You don’t weigh anything,” Shiro grumbles, openly sulking. Lance snorts at him, but he stays where he is, ducking to brush a few more gentle kisses along Shiro’s fingers. 

Before Lance can respond to that properly, the door bursts open behind him and Hunk stumbles in, still mostly asleep and rather disheveled. “I’m here,” he blurts, weaving around to his side of the bed and reaching for Shiro’s other wrist. He belatedly notices Lance as he’s taking Shiro’s pulse, giving him a slow blink. “Oh, hey, Lance.”

“Hi, Hunk,” Lance snickers.

“Oh, please don’t make me laugh,” Shiro rumbles miserably, catching Hunk’s attention and waking him up more.

“Wow, you’re actually conscious?” Hunk shakes his head, then settles in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “I bet that’s not fun.”

“I’ve had worse.” Shiro turns and squints at Hunk. “Why’re you awake?”

“Um, because you are?” Shiro and Lance both give Hunk a blank stare, so he points to himself and clarifies, “Healer.”

“You know that explains nothing, right,” Lance says flatly.

“To you, maybe,” Hunk sniffs, before he turns back to Shiro and rests the back of his hand against his forehead. “How’re you feeling, big guy?”

“Terrific,” Shiro mumbles, earning himself an admonishing click of Hunk’s tongue. “Everything I have hurts, including things I wasn’t aware I had. Better?”

“More helpful, yes.” Hunk turns to the bedside table and reaches for his mortar, rubbing sleep out of his eye before opening the nightstand drawer and digging around in the endless stuff he’d stashed in there. “I’ll make you something for that, just gimme a sec.” While Hunk is grinding up herbs and doing whatever else it is alchemists do, Lance sighs and goes back to looking at Shiro. 

The man hums quietly, rubbing his thumb against Lance’s, his dark gaze tired but affectionate. That tender expression is so familiar by now, but with his dream still vivid in the back of his mind, it sends butterflies fluttering through Lance’s stomach. 

Flushing slightly, Lance closes his eyes and nuzzles Shiro’s hand, unconcerned for how sappy he’s being.

“Alright, open up,” Hunk says, standing up and leaning over Shiro. The stuff he’d mixed up is a fairly atrocious shade of green, and uncomfortably gooey-looking. Shiro gives him an extremely dubious look, but he lets Hunk tip the concoction into his mouth. Once it hits his tongue, his eyes widen comically, and he visibly struggles to swallow it before it haunts his mouth any further.

“Oh, _Tyr,_ ” Shiro wheezes, at which Lance’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. Shiro coughs into his elbow, then groans at the resulting pain. “That tastes like ash zombie.”

Hunk grimaces loudly. “Yeah, I really don’t want to know why you know that, but I’ll work on it.” He shakes his head and sets his mortar aside, then folds Shiro’s blankets down so he can inspect his stitches.

Seeing as he’s in Allura’s chair, Lance gets an extremely good eyeful of the stitches too. He doesn’t have a weak stomach by any means, but he still averts his gaze, because seeing fresh wounds is one thing, but seeing those wounds on the man he loves is another thing entirely.

Once again, Lance turns bright red at the thought, sucking on his lips and idly fiddling with the tips of Shiro’s fingers.

When Hunk has cleaned up his instruments, he leans over Shiro with a wide grin and asks, “Feel better?”

“Mmmhm,” Shiro replies dreamily. Apparently, in the time it took to check his stitches and for Lance to fluster himself, Hunk’s gross painkiller had done its job. 

“Good.” Hunk nods to himself, then turns to Lance, who tenses and prepares a suitably stubborn expression. “Oh, relax, I’m not kicking you out. No roughhousing, though, those stitches are like _super_ fresh.” Lance scowls at him, but before he can stand up for himself, Hunk holds his hands up placatingly. “Don’t give me those flat ears, I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to him. He’s four sheets to the wind right now, so don’t let him talk you into anything.”

“Oh.” Lance blinks at Shiro, then gives Hunk a grateful smile. “Thanks, man.”

“No need, it’s what I do.” Hunk moves back toward the door, clapping Lance on the shoulder on his way. 

Just before the door closes, Shiro clears his throat, then calls, “Hunk?”

Hunk pokes his head back in. “What’s up?”

Shiro points weakly at Lance with his free hand. “Make him come up here.” Lance laughs at that, his hands squeezing Shiro’s, and the way Hunk snickers at him makes Shiro full-on sulk. It’s damn cute, even given the circumstances. “I’m serious,” he grouses, his eyes sliding lazily closed. “I’m in pain, I need succor.”

Hunk outright cackles at him, then covers his mouth and glances back into the dark hallway. “Oh man, cooked Shiro is awesome. Can you even feel anything right now?”

Sulking further, Shiro furrows his brow in concentration, then grumbles, “I can feel my lack of cuddles.”

“Oh, you big baby,” Lance snorts, unable to fight down his enormous grin. He’s gonna tease Shiro about this forever.

Shiro pokes his lip out, but before he can get too distraught, Hunk chuckles, then points to his empty chair. “Go on that side. No stitches over there.”

With that, Hunk takes his leave, and Shiro turns and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Lance shakes his head, but stands and moves around the bed. Even knowing that Shiro can’t feel much right now, he still climbs onto the bed slowly, careful not to jostle him. Shiro makes a pleased, squeaky sound, tugging him closer, so Lance wedges himself against his side and rests his head on his shoulder, wiggling up to nudge his nose against Shiro’s cheek. 

Breathing a happy sigh, Shiro wraps his arm around Lance’s shoulders and squeezes gently, pressing a few slow, sweet kisses between Lance’s fuzzy ears. Before long, his breathing deepens, and when Lance leans up to check on him, he finds Shiro blissfully knocked out.

He smiles to himself, then settles against his side again, and he falls asleep to the sound of Shiro’s soft snoring and his own content purrs.

\--

Sadly, Shiro doesn’t need painkillers for long. Lance enjoys it while it lasts, cheerfully collecting an absolute library of things to embarrass the man with later.

Even once the pain has stopped incapacitating him, Allura still forbids him from leaving the bed for another few days, just in case he bends too far and pops a stitch or something. Shiro takes surprisingly well to bed rest, aside from complaining about his stitches itching. 

Lance doesn’t leave his side the whole time. The one time he’d offered to give him space, Shiro had still been very stoned, and he’d looked like he wanted to cry. So, Lance takes it upon himself to keep him company, to offer him kisses and change his bandages, and to bring him books to read to pass the time.

As much as he’d intended to, Lance has no idea how to broach the subject of their feelings for each other. Surely he can’t tell Shiro he heard him confess in a _dream,_ that’s absurd. Even with the way Shiro’s treating him, craving his proximity and not-so-subtly perking up every time he comes back into the room, Lance can’t bring himself to ask about it, nor find the courage to say those words himself, so he just bites his tongue and waits.

\--

Near the end of Shiro’s mandatory bed rest, Lance finally brings him a mirror, biting his lip nervously. 

From where he’s sitting up against the headboard, Shiro frowns at his reflection, white brows furrowed as he drags a hand through his hair, then sighs, “Figures.” 

Lance tilts his head and smiles sympathetically over the mirror. “I still think you’re handsome.”

Simple as the compliment is, it seems to cheer Shiro up. He gives him a grateful smile, then reaches over and hooks his fingers into Lance’s belt so he can pull him closer. Lance lets himself be tugged up onto the bed, reaching over to place the mirror on the table before he sidles over to sit beside Shiro, still cautious in his movement. 

With Shiro’s arm around his waist, and his face buried in Shiro’s snowy hair, Lance finally figures out what to say.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

Lance pulls back and scratches his fingers through Shiro’s undercut, sighing when the man turns and blinks up at him curiously. 

“Why did you lie?”

Okay, maybe not the best words he could have picked, but they’re out there now. Shiro raises his eyebrows, understandably confused.

“I mean,” Lance huffs, already frustrated with himself. “That—the night before we went into that cave. You apologized for saying something, and when I asked you about it, you lied.”

To his credit, Shiro doesn’t even try to deny it. He flushes bright pink, and the color is more pronounced and, if possible, even prettier than before. “I, um,” he starts, pausing to clear his voice awkwardly. “I don’t really know.” He leans his forehead against Lance’s jaw, his arm pulling him closer. “I was just nervous, I guess.”

Lance drags a few thoughtful, soothing kisses through Shiro’s hair, then murmurs, “Did you mean it?”

Shiro freezes for a long second before he pulls back to give Lance an almost horrified look. “You—I-I thought you didn’t hear me.”

Well, may as well come clean. Lance breathes an embarrassed huff, fiddling nervously with the loose collar of Shiro’s shirt. “I didn’t, right then. But, um.” He groans irritably, hiding his face in Shiro’s hair. “I had a really convincing dream about it after we brought you back. And I know, a dream’s a dream, but—I dunno, for a while you’ve been... you’re really—really sweet to me.” 

By the time he runs out of words, Lance is hopelessly flustered and his voice is muffled and squeaky, but Shiro still hears him.

He doesn’t say anything at first, his thumb idly running over Lance’s pointy hip bone through his shirt. “What did I say in your dream?”

“Aw, you’re cruel,” Lance whines, shifting back to sit on his heels so he can sulk. “If I’m wrong, then I’m gonna look like a giant asshole, and I’m gonna have to go live by the sea with my sister and a dozen cats.”

Shiro blinks widely at him. “That is... really specific.”

“Family history,” Lance huffs, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Why don’t you tell me what _you_ said?” When Shiro just sucks on his lips, Lance gestures widely at him. “Yeah, see?”

Lowering his gaze to the sheets, Shiro frowns thoughtfully for a few long moments. Finally, though, he takes a deep, steadying breath, then looks back up at Lance. He might not be doing it on purpose, but Lance still catches a faint glimpse of something glowing familiarly on the man’s chest, and he feels himself relax just a little.

“I love you,” Shiro blurts, surprising them both.

His eyes widen once he’s said it, but he owns it, even though he looks pretty terrified.

“Is—is that what you said?”

“Oh, _now_ who’s cruel?”

“God, okay, sorry,” Lance wheezes, dragging his hands through his hair. “Yes, that’s what I thought you said. And—and you meant it?” Shiro pales considerably, giving Lance a desperate look, but after a moment, he nods tightly. 

That small movement sends an immediate, overwhelming happiness racing all through Lance’s body. It sparks like fireworks and leaves him speechless, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

Shiro’s starting to look like he wants the bed to swallow him whole, but Lance is still kinda trying to wrangle his own emotions into some semblance of order. He doesn’t want to leave Shiro hanging, though, so he rests his hands on the man’s face and leans in to carefully nudge their noses together. The contact seems to soothe Shiro a little, one of his hands finding Lance’s thigh and squeezing gently, so Lance hums, then tilts his head and catches his lips in a slow, loving kiss. 

Between them, Shiro’s aura pulses again, reminding Lance to use his words. He drags one palm down to rest on Shiro’s chest, over where the sigil lies hidden under his loose shirt, before pulling back to look him in the eye.

“I love you too, Shiro,” he breathes, his voice soft but unwavering.

Shiro’s eyes widen, then fill with tears, but before Lance can start worrying, the man reaches out and hefts him right into his lap like it’s no strain at all. Lance squeaks, but then Shiro’s wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight, and when he buries his face in the crook of Lance’s shoulder, he exhales slowly, shakily, like he’s been holding that breath for an age.

Purring soothingly, Lance slides his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, reaching up to play with his hair. He lets them both process for a while, grateful for the time himself, if only because it lets him get his giddiness under control.

Eventually, Shiro takes another deep breath and sits up again, slipping one hand over the nape of Lance’s neck to tug him into another languid, relieved kiss. Lance hums warmly and melts into him, his tail curling contently behind him. When Shiro pulls back, Lance lets him go, but not without another brief, sweet brush of their lips.

“I’m—” Shiro clears his throat, leaning his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m sorry I lied,” he whispers. 

It seems like Shiro wants to elaborate on that, to take the blame for himself, but before he can, Lance yanks him into another deep kiss, hoping to squash that train of thought altogether. Shiro makes a confused noise, but his arms settle around Lance’s waist again, letting himself be reassured.

“Don’t apologize,” Lance sighs between kisses. Shiro makes a protesting sound, and Lance understands his burning urge to be guilty, but he’s not gonna have it. He sits up straight and squishes Shiro’s cheeks between his hands, then continues, “There is nothing for you to apologize for, Shiro. At all.” Shiro opens his mouth to protest, so Lance kisses that one away too. 

“I should be the one apologizing.” Shiro’s brow furrows, genuinely confused, but he keeps quiet for now, letting Lance try to explain himself. Lance slumps in Shiro’s lap slightly, dragging his thumbs over the fading bruises under Shiro’s eyes, clouding around the scar across the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know how or why, but I just didn’t see the signs.” Lance breathes a soft, shaky laugh, nuzzling his nose against Shiro’s. “Looking back, I really don’t understand how, because you slipped up a _lot.”_

Shiro grouses at that, blushing that pretty pink again. It’s not like he can deny it, though. 

Lance shakes his head and brushes Shiro’s bangs back against his head. “I didn’t give you any clear reason to think—to think I felt the same way. I don’t blame you for getting scared.”

“Do you really think that?” Shiro blurts, and the incredulous way he’s staring at Lance makes him a little nervous. “Lance, I’ve thought you had feelings for me for months. You’re so—” He swallows heavily, turning even more red, and when he continues, his voice is quiet, almost sheepish. “You’re so cute. I swear I only ever hear you purr when we’re alone together, in bed or not. And you—you look at me all the time, and smile for me, and you laugh at my jokes even when they’re _really_ dumb.”

As he stares at Shiro, Lance can feel himself flushing dark. Hell, his tattoos might even blend in with his face right now, with how damn flustered he is. Shiro points at him eagerly and says, “And that face! I’ve never seen you make that face at anyone else. It’s—it’s so cute. _You’re_ cute.”

“Oh my god shut up,” Lance wheezes, burying his burning face in his hands. Shiro laughs at him, but pulls him into a firm hug anyway, nuzzling between Lance’s ears. 

“My point is, you’re not subtle at all,” Shiro murmurs. “But for some reason, I still lied.” He sighs, his hands rubbing slowly along Lance’s spine. “I guess I knew it was true but I just... wasn’t really ready to say it.”

Lance shakes his head, wedging himself under Shiro’s chin. “I probably wasn’t ready to hear it,” he says, earning himself a thoughtful hum. He fists one of his hands in Shiro’s shirt, then whispers, “Then—then we almost lost you.”

Shiro swallows and squeezes Lance gently, as if reassuring him that he’s here, that he made it out. 

“God, I suck,” Lance snorts. Shiro makes an indignant sound, ready to refute that, but Lance interrupts him. “ _That’s_ what it took for me to realize what you were doing to me? Come on, Shiro, that sucks.”

Shaking his head firmly, Shiro coaxes Lance into sitting up so he can look him in the eye again, gently dragging his knuckles down Lance’s flushed cheek. “Listen, I didn’t do anything about it either, okay? It’s not like I was trying to tell you and you weren’t listening, I just—I lose my filter around you sometimes.” He presses a soft kiss against Lance’s lips before murmuring, “You don’t suck.”

Lance slumps in Shiro’s lap, both of his hands fisting in the man’s loose shirt. The glow on his chest had faded at some point, but Lance isn’t entirely sure when the aura stopped. Even so, Shiro’s kind words, his warm contact soothe him easily, so rather than fixate on his own guilt, Lance drapes himself over Shiro and kisses him again.

This time, Shiro tugs him close and slips his tongue between Lance’s lips, seemingly intent on distracting him. The idea is tempting, but before he gets too into it, Lance whispers, “I’m still sorry, Shiro.”

Humming softly, Shiro nods against him, then replies, “Okay.” He pauses to adjust his grip on Lance slightly before adding, “Thank you.”

Shiro looks like he wants to apologize again, but once is enough, so Lance puts his hand over his mouth and shakes his head. He only pulls his hand away once Shiro has sighed, then relaxed slightly, quirking a pale eyebrow at him. Despite himself, Lance smiles at that face, pulling his hand away so he can nuzzle Shiro again, entirely unconcerned for how loudly he’s purring.

“You purr in your sleep too, you know,” Shiro murmurs, one of his hands sliding gently up Lance’s chest. Before Lance can be embarrassed, Shiro kisses his nose and sighs, “I think that’s my favorite sound.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance pulls back just to give Shiro a teasing grin. “What about the sound of, say, smiting evil?”

“You’re a bully,” Shiro replies easily, wrapping his arm around Lance again and squeezing him. “I stand by what I said.”

Before Lance can succumb to the urge to play with him more, Shiro hoists Lance up against his chest, then rolls them over with a deft twist of his hips. Lance squawks, but he lets Shiro settle between his thighs with a bright laugh. Shiro smiles fondly at him, his dark eyes so, so pretty, ducking down to catch Lance’s lips again.

Once he does, though, he freezes, then groans quietly, tensing above Lance. Lance stares up at him, eyes wide. “Shiro?”

“Okay, stitches still fresh,” Shiro wheezes, before slowly dropping himself to hide his face in Lance’s neck.

“Oh my god,” Lance blurts, reaching down to hike Shiro’s shirt up, then squirming until he can look at his side. He seem fine, aside from one tiny droplet of blood clinging to one of the more minor stitches. It’s barely anything, but Lance knows firsthand that tugged stitches sting like a bitch. Even so, he can’t help but laugh at Shiro, who just grumbles against his throat.

“Doctor said no roughhousing,” Lance snickers, relaxing under the man again once he’s pulled his shirt back down. Shiro huffs, clearly displeased, but he lets Lance nudge him into rolling back over.

Honestly, Lance is fine with this too. He’s never complained about the way Shiro looks under him before, and he’s not about to start now. 

Straddling him easily, Lance gives him a wide, crooked grin and drags his hands down Shiro’s strong chest before leaning in to whisper, “Looks like you’re at my mercy, huh?”

That has Shiro smiling again. He rests his hands on Lance’s hips, slipping his thumbs under the hem of his shirt. 

Before Lance can start putting any moves on him, Shiro squeezes his hips, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Wait, um.”

Lance sits up straight, resting one hand on Shiro’s stubbly cheek. “You okay?” His tail stands up then, suddenly nervous, already checking to make sure Shiro didn’t actually grievously injure himself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Shiro laughs, reaching to catch Lance’s hand before he can pull his shirt up again. He brings Lance’s palm to his lips, closing his eyes contently as he drags a few tender kisses there. “Can I... can I try something?”

Lance quirks an eyebrow at him, watching him flush even more. “What’s that?”

Shiro licks his lips, then moves his hands to Lance’s waist. He tries to shift him to the side again, murmuring soothingly when Lance frowns sternly at him.

With some guidance, Lance ends up sprawled on his back beside Shiro, blinking curiously at him. The man hums, running his hand down Lance’s chest, before he moves to tug Lance’s shirt up over his stomach, up his chest. It leaves Lance exposed, but this is hardly the most exposed he’s ever been around Shiro, so he just laces his fingers behind his head and watches.

Shiro turns toward him, then reaches down and rests his warm hand on Lance’s belly, his touch gentle, appreciative.

It takes a moment for what Shiro’s doing to set in, but when the man nudges him a little closer to the edge of the bed, right into a weak sunbeam, Lance just gives him a sharp grin.

He really can’t tease Shiro for this, though, because as the sun warms his skin, helped along by Shiro’s soothing touch, Lance finds himself absolutely molten, lost somewhere between incredibly sleepy and incredibly turned on. He closes his eyes and purrs noisily, earning himself a pleased hum.

Lance’s loose pants betray him pretty quickly, but he’s far past being embarrassed by how easily Shiro gets to him. Besides, Shiro sure doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he grins, then shifts his free hand to palm at Lance’s hard cock through his pants.

“Sure hope that door’s locked,” Shiro murmurs, his thumb dragging lazy circles against Lance’s arousal.

“Probably not.”

“Oh well.”

Lance snickers at that, then reaches up and carefully pulls Shiro down for more kisses, shamelessly arching into his warm hands.

The hand rubbing Lance’s belly moves, but before he can pull back to complain about it, Shiro’s already reaching up and gently pulling off his headband, tossing it onto the side table. He buries those fingers in Lance’s hair and, as he ducks down to his lips again, starts slowly scratching his fingers behind one of Lance’s ears. 

Groaning raggedly, Lance arches up against Shiro and grumbles, “That’s cheating.”

Shiro chuckles at that, warm and sweet, but thankfully, he doesn’t stop. He just keeps his fingers moving, coaxing Lance into relaxing for him again. 

Before long, Shiro starts shifting beside him, but even as gooey as those hands make him feel, Lance is still three steps ahead. He purrs contently under Shiro’s touches, and before the man can shift back over him, Lance rolls over and sits up on his knees, his hands catching Shiro’s wrists. 

Lance licks his lips as he shuffles into Shiro’s lap, then guides those hands onto his ass. He drapes his own arms over Shiro’s shoulders and grins, rocking his hips forward and rubbing his clothed arousal against that deliciously muscular stomach. Shiro groans against his lips, using his grip on Lance’s ass to pull him closer, before spreading his thighs so Lance’s cock can rub against his, already hard in his sleep pants. 

“If you want this,” Lance sighs between kisses, “You have to be good.” Shiro’s hold on him tightens, earning him a breathy laugh. “I mean it. No moving, no flipping us over, nothing. You gotta let me take care of you.”

“You always take care of me,” Shiro mumbles, his badly-concealed pouting setting Lance giggling again. 

“Then you should be used to it.”

Shiro sniffs at that. “Doubt I could ever get used to you.” Lance quirks an eyebrow at him, his crooked smile setting Shiro blushing again. “I-I mean that in a good way.”

“Oh, I took it in a good way, trust me.” Lance chuckles warmly, nudging his nose affectionately against Shiro’s. “Take your clothes off, big guy.”

Lance takes the opportunity to climb off the bed, and while he’s making quick work of his shirt and boots, Shiro takes his time with his own clothes, doing his best not to strain his stitches. Such a good boy. Lance gives him a wide, pleased smile, then turns around, and as he’s pushing his pants down off his hips, he does Shiro the favor of bending over way further than he really needs to, his tail arched up, curling lazily in the air.

Behind him, Shiro groans raggedly, very clearly appreciative of the view.

Once they’re both naked, Lance turns to the side table and digs around through all of Hunk’s herbs and bottles until he finds their oil stuffed in the back corner. He opens it and sets it on the table, then crawls right back into Shiro’s lap, purring when the man welcomes him with open arms and a sweet kiss. 

“Can I?” Shiro asks, his voice already rough with arousal. Lance raises his eyebrows, and when Shiro points at the tin, he gives him a bright grin and a nod. 

Shiro hums gratefully, reaching over to dip his fingers in the oil. While he’s getting them good and slick, Lance spreads his knees a little farther across Shiro’s lap, then leans into his chest and arches his back out, lifting his tail again. Shiro makes another muffled sound at that, but he lets his free hand rest on Lance’s narrow waist with an encouraging squeeze.

Lance busies himself kissing wetly along Shiro’s throat, humming happily when the man tilts his head aside for him. His breath hitches when Shiro wraps his arm around him, then rubs his dripping fingers against Lance’s entrance, his touch slow and gentle. 

When Shiro slips the tip of one of his fingers into him, Lance shivers and arches back for more, playfully sinking his fangs into the man’s pulse. Shiro makes the cutest little sound at that, his arm tightening around Lance’s waist, but before Lance can comment on it, Shiro works his finger into him to the knuckle. He’s moving with just a hint of impatience, his breath heavier than before, which really just makes Lance want to give him everything he wants and more.

“Hurry up,” Lance whispers against flushed skin, nuzzling into the sharp turn of Shiro’s jaw. “C’mon, want you.”

Shiro swallows heavily at that, but he nods, already pressing a second finger into him. Lance hums contently, then goes back to leaving little pink marks all along Shiro’s throat, his fingers trailing along broad, scarred shoulders. 

He’s barely managed to fit three fingers inside when Lance starts squirming for more, his breath panting out quick, his hips swaying idly. He wants to pull back, to wiggle off those fingers and onto Shiro’s cock, but the arm around his waist stays firm, keeping him still. Before he can complain, Shiro hums lowly, then flexes his fingers so they brush along Lance’s sweet spot, turning any protest he’d had into a breathy little whine. 

“The sounds you make,” Shiro rumbles, rocking his hips up against Lance’s. “So gorgeous, Lance.”

“Y-you could be getting a lot more of them,” Lance gasps. Shiro grins crookedly, then grinds his fingers deep again, and when Lance arches against him and bites his lip around a stuttering whimper, Shiro nuzzles into his throat and moans softly. Rather than tease him further, Shiro eases his fingers out, reaching between them to slick his cock with a hot sigh. 

Lance leans back to watch, and before he can stop himself, he blurts, “Oh wow, the carpet matches the curtains.”

Shiro blinks at him, then down at his cock, and when he sees that the soft curls trailing down from his navel to his cock are indeed just as white as the rest of his hair, he grimaces. 

“You know, I’m not even surprised,” he huffs. Lance tilts his head curiously, at which Shiro just shrugs. “Undead just do that sometimes. How do you think I ended up with skunk hair to begin with?”

Interesting. Lance hums and combs his fingers through Shiro’s soft hair, admiring the way it looks in the winter sunlight. “I liked your skunk hair,” he mumbles. “But I like your hair this way just as much. The way it ended up like this sucks ass, don’t get me wrong, but you’re fine now and you having white hair does not diminish my hard-on for you in the least.”

Shiro barks a pleased laugh at that, his eyes sparkling affectionately, which has Lance melting for him. He leans in for another slow, sweet kiss, but before they can get much more distracted, he presses on Shiro’s chest, coaxing him into leaning back against the headboard again.

The angle gives them both all the proximity they could want, leaves them plenty of room to hold and kiss each other brainless, to cling to each other, so Lance breathes a satisfied sound before sitting up on his knees. Shiro reaches down to steady himself for him, his other hand settling encouragingly on Lance’s hip, so Lance rests his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and, as he moves over him, then rolls his hips down, catches the man’s lips in a deep, languid kiss.

As relaxed and eager as he is, it doesn’t take Lance long to settle into Shiro’s lap, even with how big he is. They both gasp against each other’s lips, so Lance moves one hand to rest on the back of Shiro’s head, restlessly dragging his nails through the short hair he finds there. 

Lance shifts his weight slightly, moaning softly at how good it feels to have Shiro inside him again. They’re close enough that he can rub his cock against the man’s stomach, too, and that he can hear the way Shiro’s breath stutters when he squeezes around him, so Lance gives him a lazy smile, then starts rocking his hips.

Once he’s adjusted to being filled, Lance squeezes Shiro’s shoulders, then lifts his hips, and when he sinks back down again, both of them groan brainlessly.

Shiro grinds up against him, though, and when he does, there’s no way he could hide the tense hitch to his breath when his stitches twinge. 

Lance sits up and gives him a stern look, which just has Shiro blinking at him. “I told you no moving,” he scolds, poking the man in the chest. “That means _no moving.”_

“Not even that?” Lance shakes his head firmly, not at all swayed by the pleading look Shiro gives him. Shiro purses his lips, but he relents with a huff. He squeezes Lance’s waist encouragingly, so he brushes a soft kiss along the scar across Shiro’s face, then starts swaying his hips again. 

The rhythm Lance sets is slow and gentle, doing his best not to jostle either of them. He bites his lip and tilts his head back, shifting one hand to the top of the headboard behind Shiro to give himself more leverage. The deep, controlled movements of his hips have them both breathless again so easily, Lance’s brain fogging over as Shiro’s hands run restlessly up his sides, along his ribs, down his scarred back. 

He’s used to Shiro’s absent-minded petting when they’re like this, but the feeling still sends warm, pleasant sparks of pleasure all through him. That, along with how nicely Shiro spreads him open, hot and thick inside of him, twitching excitedly every time he breathes Shiro’s name have Lance closing his eyes with a shaky moan, squeezing tight around him.

“Lance, _Lance,_ ” Shiro gasps brainlessly, his voice so deep, so affected. “You feel so nice, baby... I wanna—wanna move so bad, fuck...”

Lance purrs haltingly at that, licking his lips and opening his eyes again so he can see what kinds of faces Shiro’s making. The man looks _so_ pretty like this, flushed pink and so vulnerable, so entranced by Lance’s steady movements. It’s not enough to get him to relent, though, so he just bites his lip around a grin and shakes his head, then presses his hips down firmly, not bothering to muffle the stuttering moan of Shiro’s name that slips from his lips. 

If anything, that just seems to encourage Shiro, who shifts under him, probably thinking he’s being slick. He tightens his grip on Lance’s hips, holding him still so he can rocks his hips up into him, grinding his cock deep as if to say _‘look how good I could be to you.’_

As nice as that feels, and as much as Lance would like more, he remains unconvinced. He reaches down and grabs Shiro’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his skin altogether and sitting heavily in his lap, squeezing almost punishingly around him. Shiro wheezes a low moan at that, his eyes rolling closed as his fingers flex around nothing. 

Lance leans close and draws Shiro into a sharp, bitey kiss, humming when the cock inside him twitches excitedly. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he rumbles deeply, slipping his tongue between Shiro’s lips just briefly enough to get his attention. “Do I need to tie you down?”

The face Shiro gives him at that is _very_ interesting. His lips part around a breathy, panted sound, and the dark, heady look in his eyes is probably going to haunt Lance’s sexiest dreams for some time. 

Another time, then. 

“Behave yourself,” he breathes, his voice a low growl that has Shiro shivering, which sends a thrill of satisfaction all though Lance. “Or else.”

Ever competitive, Shiro huffs a laugh at that. “Or else what?”

Lance narrows his eyes. “Or else I’ll get us both off in the next minute and a half. So if you wanna enjoy this, be good.”

Shiro quirks an eyebrow at him, his smile sly and crooked. “Oh really?”

“Really.” Lance nips playfully at Shiro’s lips again, squeezing tight around him just to prove his point. “I know your weaknesses, Shirogane, don’t make me use them.”

For a moment, Shiro looks pretty damn tempted. He seems to think better of it, though, which is good, because as fun as it would be, Lance would really rather take his time with Shiro right now. 

“Fine,” Shiro huffs, “I’ll try my best.” He pauses, licking his lips idly, then whispers, “Please let me touch you.”

Lance smiles widely at him, content with that for now. He gives him a deep, messy kiss, guiding Shiro’s hands back to his ass and earning himself a relieved groan. Shiro squeezes his ass tight, then tugs gently, just enough to urge Lance to start moving again.

“I know you wanna do more,” Lance murmurs against him, brushing a soft kiss against Shiro’s stubbly cheek. “You can do whatever you want to me when you’re all healed up, okay? I promise.”

Shiro groans raggedly, then nods, nudging Lance up for more kisses. Satisfied, Lance adjusts his weight, then starts moving again, riding Shiro’s cock in long, lazy thrusts, taking him deep and breathing quiet sounds against those flushed lips. Shiro licks into him with a shaky groan, and even though Lance can tell the man is desperate to do more, to take them both higher, he keeps his hips still and lets Lance take care of him. 

His compliance makes Lance want to reward him so damn badly, but he’s afraid to move too fast, too hard for the same reasons he doesn’t want Shiro to move at all. So instead, he melts against Shiro’s chest and keens for him, his tail curling restlessly behind him as he breathes, “What do you want to do to me?”

The way Shiro moans at that has heat searing all through Lance, leaving him grinding down into Shiro’s lap, his breath hitching. He picks his pace back up before the feeling of being stuffed so full can distract him, earning himself another breathless hum from Shiro.

“Wanna—want my mouth on you, hear all the pretty noises you make,” Shiro gasps, nuzzling between Lance’s ears. “Want you under me again, to spread you out on your stomach and see how long you can handle me inside you like that before you come on my cock.”

Lance doesn’t know why he’s surprised by Shiro’s dirty talk. By now, he really shouldn’t be. Even so, hearing Shiro describe how he wants to fuck him while Lance is riding him, his voice low, rough with arousal, has Lance’s eyes rolling back, his back arching and his thighs trembling. He clings to Shiro and whines, which only seems to encourage the man.

Shiro groans for him, then reaches up and cards his fingers through Lance’s hair. It seems for a moment like he might go for the ears again, but instead he fists his hand in Lance’s hair and tugs gently. 

The feeling has Lance keening for him, dropping himself harder onto Shiro’s cock. He gets his hips back under control, but then Shiro pulls again, firmly enough this time to have Lance tilting his head back, easily exposing his throat to him. That grip has Lance shaking, his nails digging into Shiro’s shoulders just to cling to him, and as he moves faster, Shiro breathes his name, then pulls him close so he can drag wet, bitey kisses along Lance’s throat.

Lance shivers out a quiet whimper, arching into Shiro, leaving himself even more vulnerable. If this was anyone else in any world, he’d feel too exposed, too much at the man’s mercy. 

This is Shiro, though. Shiro muffling low moans against Lance’s pulse, Shiro cradling him close, Shiro twitching inside him and huffing every time Lance takes him deep.

As Shiro sucks a dark bruise into the soft skin of his throat, Lance gasps his name for him, breathless on his lips like a prayer, and Shiro nuzzles into him with a shaky groan, still doing his best to keep still even though he has Lance entirely at his mercy.

Just when Lance is about to beg for the man to tell him more, Shiro pulls away from his throat and uses his grip on Lance’s hair to coax him into another desperate kiss, fucking his tongue between Lance’s lips and moaning for him. He lets go of his hair and slides his hands back to Lance’s ass, using his strong arms to urge him higher, to pull off further before he rocks down again.

Lance allows that, letting Shiro guide his hips and melting against him. He drags his hands through Shiro’s hair, brainlessly craving his affection and receiving it in droves.

“Fuck, Lance,” Shiro gasps into him, his eyes shut tight. “You’re so tight, baby, the way you feel around me drives me so crazy...” Lance whimpers at that too, so easily swayed by Shiro’s voice like this. “Think you can come like this? Wanna make you feel so good, pretty boy, wanna hear you make noise for me. T-tell me what you need, please?”

Even though he lacks the brains to really consider that right now, Lance nods quickly, sliding his arms around Shiro’s neck again. 

He probably can come from this, though, with the way Shiro’s fat cock feels spreading him open so easily, and the way his own dripping arousal feels rubbing through the slick mess he’s leaving on the man’s stomach. Hearing the sweet sounds Shiro’s breathing for him only helps, especially the way his voice cracks when Lance works his hips harder, urging Shiro to pick up his own rhythm. 

“J-just—” Lance swallows heavily, nuzzling into Shiro. “Just need you, Shiro, c’mon...”

Shiro nods at that, then glances between them, groaning raggedly when he sees how wet Lance is, the way his shaky thighs look spread over his lap. He leans his forehead against Lance’s, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, barely more than a whisper.

“I—ah, I love you, Lance, s-so much...”

As much as those words turn Lance’s heart to mush, something fluttering excitedly inside him, hearing them in that deep, affected timbre Shiro’s voice carries when they’re together like this leaves Lance entirely brainless.

He leans his head back with a stuttering moan, probably too loud for the middle of the day, but as he squeezes tight around Shiro, the man just echoes the sound, watching Lance dazedly.

It’s sweet, and it turns him on like nothing else, but even as close as he is, Lance can’t help but remember how close he came to losing this without ever hearing those words at all, and his heart skips a hard beat or two.

Winding his fingers desperately into Shiro’s hair, Lance nods quickly, then starts moving faster. He doesn’t want to hurt him, though, so he compensates for the quick pace by not taking him all the way, to keep his weight from causing any unnecessary damage. It could be a tiny bit disappointing, but Shiro’s so big that it almost doesn’t matter. He still hits him so deep, the thick head of his cock arching hard past his sweet spot with every thrust, and this rhythm, along with the way it has Lance squeezing him desperately have Shiro moaning for him.

Lance pulls him into another messy kiss, more desperate for his proximity than anything else. He can’t focus on that, though, not with how close he is now, so he pulls back just enough to gasp, “Love you too, Shiro— _fuck,_ right there—”

The way Shiro whines at the words just encourages Lance. He moves to whimper against Shiro’s ear, breathlessly repeating the words a few more times, quiet and reverent. Shiro wraps one arm around his waist and buries his face in Lance’s neck, moaning his name for him. He’s trembling, twitching the way he does when he’s getting close, but before Lance can switch his focus to getting him off, Shiro reaches between them and wraps his hand around Lance’s cock.

Throwing his head back with a hitching cry, the sound vaguely shaped around Shiro’s name, Lance clings to him and bucks his hips into his tight grip, unable to focus on anything but how perfect it feels to fuck into Shiro’s hand, then back down onto his cock.

He’s making way too much noise now, but _fuck_ Shiro feels so good, Lance can’t help it. His orgasm builds blindingly fast, whimpering at how hard Shiro is for him, stuffing him full even with how tight he’s squeezing around him. The curve of that pretty cock is doing them both some good, too, and Lance can’t help but arch his back more, just to feel how perfectly Shiro hits him.

When he spills over Shiro’s hand, it’s with a breathless, noisy whine of his name, his hands gripping Shiro tight to him. He keeps moving as much as he can, driven higher with every deep thrust until Shiro wraps both arms around his waist and snaps his hips up into Lance with a keening moan.

It’s such a sweet sound, and Lance is so weak to how perfect Shiro is when he’s coming, he can’t even find it in himself to scold him. He just clings to Shiro while they come together, settling himself heavily in his lap when his shaky thighs won’t support him anymore. 

Still panting hard, Shiro guides Lance into another sloppy kiss, his hips flexing up into him once more before he slumps back against the headboard. 

Lance kisses him until they’ve both caught their breath some, dragging his nails lightly down Shiro’s strong chest. The feeling earns him a low, pleased hum and another kiss, which Lance happily leans into, his own purrs rumbling haltingly between them.

Once he has his brain back some, though, Lance pulls away and gives Shiro another stern look. He’s momentarily distracted by how _hot_ Shiro is right now, flushed dark, still breathing heavily, his gaze hooded and affectionate even as he raises his pale eyebrows in question. Shaking himself slightly, Lance sits back and crosses his arms, then huffs, “You broke the rules.”

Shiro has the good grace to look sheepish, his hands soothing along Lance’s sides in a clear attempt to placate him. “I couldn’t help it,” he mumbles, “You felt... so amazing.”

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” Lance grumbles. He can’t keep the act up for long, though, choosing instead to nuzzle his nose against Shiro’s as he lifts himself up on badly trembling thighs until his cock slips out of him. 

He wrinkles his nose at the mess they’ve made, but Shiro just seems pleased, so Lance smiles for him and ruffles his hair. He goes to roll away, to go fetch something to wipe them off with, but before he gets anywhere, Shiro grabs him and pouts at him, which is honestly too cute to resist. 

“We’re gonna get sticky,” he says anyway, giving Shiro an amused smile. “At least let me clean up.”

“Do I have to?” Shiro grumbles, but he lets go with a deeply put-upon sigh.

“Always so dramatic,” Lance snickers, like he has any room to talk. He takes the opportunity anyway, and once they’re both cleaned up and at least wearing pants again, he crawls back across the bed, intent on some cuddling. 

Shiro catches him before he can flop against him, and with some coaxing, manages to array them so he’s carefully spooned against Lance’s back, his breath warm as it ruffles Lance’s messy hair. 

The position lets Shiro nudge him back into the fading sunbeam. Lance gives him a teasing grin over his shoulder, but when Shiro starts rubbing his belly again, dragging sweet, gentle kisses along the curve of his shoulder, all Lance can really do is arch into him and sigh, relaxing for him easily.

He’s mostly asleep when Shiro nuzzles into his hair and whispers those three words again, but Lance still wiggles against him and purrs, and the deep, content hum Shiro breathes for him has every part of him settling happily.

\--

When they move on from that snowy town, heading to the south in search of an artificer, Hunk complains loudly from the front of the group that for his own sanity, they need to start stopping in towns with two separate inns. 

Shiro has the good grace to flush dark and mumble an apology, but Lance sees the corner of Hunk’s teasing smile, so he just perks up and grins, shameless as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)
> 
> DON'T LET ME WRITE MORE OF THIS


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